An Interesting Predicament
by kelinor
Summary: Oh where can a wandering mind lead... H&M story that just kept on writing itself.. unfinished, of course. UPDATE: Do you think I should split it into more chapters? Need your opinions, guys
1. An Interesting Predicament

An Interesting Predicament

_Real crappy I know, but hey! Ongoing fun-ness n.n _

Hawkeye groaned and rolled over, staring at the green walls blankly before shaking his head and yawning. Sitting up and blinking sleepily, he ran both his hands through his hair and looked around. Then it struck him.

"Hey Beej!" he whispered loudly, throwing a pillow over at his sleeping bunkie as he jumped up, accidentally tipping over the glass on the floor.

"Wtsrflgrt" mumbled BJ Hunnicutt, flailing an arm out and grabbing for his watch. He looked disbelievingly at his clock, then at his friend, who was stooping to place the glass back by the still and then struggling as quietly as possible into some clothes.

"Hawkeye! What is the big idea?" he protested loudly, holding out his watch, just visible in the dawn light. Hawkeye cringed and made 'shut up' motions with his hands.

 "You said wake you early, Rip van Winkle! Remember?"

BJ stared at the watch again. "Why would I – oh!"

"Sssh!" hissed Hawkeye again. Charles turned over in his bunk restlessly and the two captains glanced in his direction. BJ nodded and started getting dressed. "I'll meet you outside the mess tent," Hawkeye said quietly before slipping outside. BJ grinned mischievously and picked up his shirt. He paused a moment and stared at the green material, before sighing and getting on with it. It was **always** green.

Hawkeye padded over to the mess tent, bootlaces trailing in the dusty earth. He squinted at the rising sun over the Korean hills, mentally going through his plans. There was no way they were going to mess up today. A stunt like this was old as those hills, but pure genius! Giggling gleefully to himself, he turned round and opened the door of the mess tent. Running into the major coming the other way. 

Margaret gasped involuntarily as she walked straight into Pierce on the other side of the door. What was **he** doing here right now? Was her thought, which was abruptly cut off as she grabbed at his wrists to steady herself. Hawkeye stepped backwards, and stood on his lace.  The two of them fell backwards into the compound, limbs flailing. Margaret sat up and was about to launch into a blistering vituperation when the captain's strong hand went over her mouth.

"Ssh! Why, we should do this more often, Margaret!" He whispered, obviously enjoying her discomfort as she rolled to the side, shaking off his restraining hand.

"Hawkeye, if you think that is even remotely funny –" she started hotly, scrambling to her feet and glaring at him. Hawkeye sat up and lowered his hands urgently for her to be quiet.

"Please, Major! A little quiet?"

She shut her mouth and looked at him narrowly. "Why?"

BJ came strolling quietly over, looking in surprise at the head nurse.

"Hawk, you sly devil! And here I was thinking you'd gone off to start setting up!" he whispered merrily to his buddy, who was still sitting on the floor. Hawkeye winked impishly. "I rather enjoyed rolling on the floor with Margaret, thank you," he whispered back irrepressibly. The Major decided enough was enough.

"What on earth do you two think you're doing up so early anyway?" she said sternly, glaring at Hawkeye. The captain opened his mouth, but BJ could see he was just going to say something doubtless witty and doubtless annoying to the head nurse. He cut in hurriedly. 

"Margaret, maybe you'd like to help us," he said ingratiatingly. Hawkeye shut his mouth and looked up at his friend with question in his blue eyes.

"Help you do what?" said Margaret, her interest piqued and her anger at the two rogues fading fast.

Hawkeye scrambled to his feet and looked around the empty camp. He beckoned the other two inside the mess tent, a smile escaping him as he thought of their master plan. BJ courteously held open the door for Margaret, stepping inside after her and standing with his back against it.

Hawkeye wandered over to the main pole of the structure and looked back at the Major, smiling widely. "What Beej means is, dear Major, that you have caught us about our terrible business. For today – well, do you swear to secrecy?"

"Uh, okay..." replied Margaret, her head tilted to the side.

"Great!" said Hawkeye, striding over to her and BJ, and began telling her quietly. Margaret clapped her hand over her mouth. "You can't do that! It's too predictable!" she said, her eyes widening and a smile threatening to break through her Major's façade. 

"Just watch us, dear lady!" said Hawkeye, bowing with a flourish. "Messrs Pierce and Hunnicutt will stop at nothing!"

"I can tell…" said Margaret, her eyes crinkled trying not to smile.

"So, are you in?" inquired BJ eagerly. "We could use another pair of hands…"

Margaret threw her hands up in the air. "Well, if you insist. But if this crazy stunt goes wrong, I'm no way involved!"

"Of course not, Major Houlihan," said Hawkeye, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

BJ rubbed his hands together. "Great, here's what you can do, Margaret…"

BJ stole back into the Swamp. There had been no wounded for nearly a week; Post-Op was empty, and this was the first day Colonel Potter had decreed no morning wake up call. Part of him kind of missed being able to sleep in, but there was no way they could miss an opportunity like this. After what Charles had done to them four days ago, they'd been letting him lord it over them, thinking that he had well and truly got them. The captain bit his finger to stifle his giggle as he carefully lifted the bucket of water to balance precariously over Charles's light, then took the piece of string tied to the handle and knotted it gently around the major's arm. Placing the garment from under his arm in place of Charles' trousers, he took the major's real pants and hid them under his own bunk. He was just about to leave when a thought struck him, and he crept back again to pick up an object. Tiptoeing out again, he picked up the other bucket and balanced it above the door that was just ajar. BJ stepped back admiringly. "The oldest trick in the book," he chuckled to himself. Margaret came hurrying over, a piece of paper retrieved from Klinger's office fluttering in her hand. It read THE WHITE KNIGHT.  Hawkeye also came strolling over, hands jammed in his pockets, grinning widely. "All set, guys?" he asked, looking up at the bucket.

"A-OK Hawk," whispered BJ. "Everyone in the mess tent?" 

"Yup," he replied to his friend, who handed him the object and set off back to everyone else. Margaret smiled impishly and finished tying the string on the sign in her hand, then looked expectantly at Hawkeye. "Well?" she said pointedly.  

"All in good time!" retorted the captain, checking that BJ was over at the mess tent. As he looked his best friend waved a hand in the air - a hand holding Klinger's camera – and ducked inside the mess tent. Hawkeye took a deep breath and walked over to the netting wall beside the gently snoring Charles.

"Oh Charles…." He said loudly. Charles snorted and opened his eyes to Hawkeye's grinning face. The captain held up one of Charles's prized records. "Me and BJ are off to play frisbee. You wanna come?"

Charles stuttered and glared in disbelief. He suddenly sat bolt upright, his face red with anger – and jerked the bucket of water over his head. Hawkeye's riotous laughter echoed in the major's ears as he dashed off holding the record.

"PIERCE!" roared Charles, tearing the string off his arm and grabbing for his trousers. Shaking his sopping wet head, he tried to put them on – and found the ends sewn up. The enraged major stumbled out through the door after his nemesis, spluttering in anger. As he pushed the door open, it suddenly occurred to him that this might not be such a good idea. He looked up – and the bucket of flour hit him full in the face, covering his hair and eyes and sopping wet body, sticking there. He stood there a moment, speechless with fury. Margaret, who had been hiding round the corner trying not to laugh, raced round. "Major Winchester!" she gasped, doing a credible imitation of surprise to the man blinded by flour.

"Margaret! Where did Pierce go!" he shouted, trying to clear his eyes. Margaret reached up and swiftly hooked the sign over his neck without him noticing.

"Why, I think I saw him off at the mess tent," she said innocently. Charles stumbled off in the general direction, finally managing to clear his eyes and wrenching the door open.

"Smile!" said BJ brightly.

Charles stomped back to the Swamp, the laughter of the whole camp echoing in his ears. Back at the mess tent Margaret wiped her eyes and tried to stop laughing. Hawkeye and BJ had collapsed in paroxysms and Klinger carried his camera off with all the reverence of a holy object. "Copy those negatives!" Hawkeye managed to yell, still giggling helplessly. "Never fear, sir! I will treat them like gold dust!" called back Klinger.

Back in the Swamp Charles sat muttering to himself before grabbing a towel and walking off to the shower. He'd show them, this little prank was **nothing**…. 

The calm of the week ended pretty quickly after that with the arrival of the next batch of kids from the front. Coming out of the OR one evening, BJ and Hawkeye were surprised to see three tall wooden cupboards by Colonel Potter's office. Pulling off his hat, Hawkeye approached them with a kind of weary amusement. 

"Hey look Beej, guess the army decided we needed a new wardrobe."

"I was getting sick of olive drab anyway," quipped BJ, a tired note in his voice. Hawkeye peered inside one. 

"It's empty anyway. Hoi, Klinger!"   The Lebanese corporal looked round as he hurried past.

"Yes, sir?"

"What the hell are these for?"

Klinger looked disgusted. "Don't ask, sir. Lets just say a certain supply sergeant owed me an awful lot of poker winnings, and he promised me a case of Scotch. Instead I end up with three cupboards! What am I supposed to do with them?" The wiry man threw his hands up in the air and stalked off. Hawkeye shrugged.

"The place needs a little decor anyway. I'm bushed. Care for a drink of the water of life, Beej?"

"Antifreeze of life, you mean."

"That's the stuff."

The two captains staggered back to the Swamp, yawning hugely. Now was really a day when they needed a sleep in.

Charles's eyes gleamed faintly in the dark as he observed Klinger's new acquisitions. A plan came to mind….

The next morning Charles handed over his duty in Post-Op, being snippy to BJ when he was a few minutes late. Wandering over to Klinger's office he waited courteously until the corporal had finished talking on the phone.

"Ah, Klinger, I was wondering, what are you going to do with your new – ah – winnings?" he said urbanely, jerking his head towards the cupboards outside.

"Damned if I know. Can't even get them through the door. Though one might be useful in that corner. If you moved that cabinet."

"Perhaps I could, give you a hand, maybe?" pressed Charles. Klinger looked surprised.

"Well sure, Major. A hand would sure be nice."

The pair of them transferred the largest cupboard into the corner by turning it on its side. Klinger stood back and dusted his hands. "Perfect! How can I ever thank you, Major?" he inquired eagerly. Charles looked a little pained. "No thanks necessary, Klinger… though keeping your hands off my personal belongings to trade with might be nice…"

With that he walked out. Klinger scratched his head a little confused, but shrugged and went back to his seat.

About an hour later Colonel Potter passed through the office on his way to do duty. He stared disbelievingly at the huge cupboard in the corner.

"What in the name of sweet red apples is that doing there? Klinger, I thought I told you not to do anything extreme with this room!" he rounded on the corporal.

"But sir…" protested Klinger innocently.

"No buts sonny! I want that out of here! Double quick! Now get on that horn and find some transportation!" the CO slammed the door into Post-Op behind him. Klinger threw him a black look. 

"Sheesh, what's up with him today?" he mumbled, reluctantly picking up the phone once more.

The next evening a truck rattled up. Klinger started talking hurriedly with the man who was driving it, and between them they loaded the truck with the three cupboards. The corporal smiled and pushed back his hat, looking mournfully at the items. "Just wish I could have got that scotch," he said to himself. Suddenly an ear-splitting bang echoed across the compound. A babble of voices broke out, and people rushed to their doors to look around. Klinger raised his voice.

"It's all right everyone, it's just the truck tyre!" he called. "Oh camel dung," he muttered to himself. "Hey, Jack, we can put you up tonight 'til we find a new tyre. Shouldn't take too long."

"But my stuff," protested the driver. "I got valuable items in there, the black market would pay a fortune to get their hands on that!"

"Hey, we're a MASH compound. We don't get that many thieves, honest."

"Apart from you, ya little scavenger," said the burly driver, cuffing Klinger around the shoulder. Klinger smiled sourly before heading off to the office.

Charles smiled delightedly. Just what he had hoped! An even easier way. Having pocketed the key when helping Klinger, he had checked he could open and shut the wardrobes with ease. An hour or so in there would certainly humble those three pranksters, he thought merrily. Now how to get them there…

Hawkeye, BJ, Margaret and the Colonel were in Rosie's Bar talking quietly when Charles came in looking flustered but grinning. 

"What's up, Chuckles?" inquired Hawkeye, swinging round in his seat. Charles looked at him. 

"Ah, Margaret," he said, pointedly ignoring Hawkeye. "You'll never guess what I found in Klinger's cupboards just now!"

"His white heels," said BJ smartly.

"His fox fur stole!" said Hawkeye, grinning.

"Neither of them, you cretins," he said witheringly before turning to Margaret again. "Do please come and see..."

"What is it?" said Margaret, unmoving.

"Ah-hah... a little, shall we say... surprise?" mediated Charles.

Hawkeye and BJ exchanged looks.

Margaret rolled her eyes and got up. "Well go on then Charles, it had better be good."

Hawkeye jumped to his feet too. "I'm coming too! Don't leave me out, Mommy," he appealed to Charles, who looked disgusted. 

"I'm sure it doesn't concern you, Pierce, just sit back down."

"Oh no, not likely! Let's see what Doctor Dustdigger has found! Coming, BJ?"

"I think I'm sufficiently engrossed in my comfortable seat here, thank you," grinned BJ. Hawkeye shrugged and followed Margaret outside. Charles grimaced and walked out behind them, but inwardly groaned. He was supposed to get Hunnicutt too! Well, him next. He led the madly grinning Hawkeye and the coolly staring Margaret towards the broken truck, and clambered swiftly up the ramp. Amongst all the bales of penicillin and morphine two of the cupboards opened darkly in the dim light. Charles urged them forward. Hawkeye stepped forward cautiously, pretty sure Charles was going to try something, but he wasn't sure what. Charles walked in to the first one and from the back pulled out a fistful of military scrip. "There's caches in here!" Hawkeye immediately went into the other one, rummaging around the back panel. Margaret peered interestedly inside too. Charles came to stand beside her.

"Find anything?" she inquired, leaning forward a bit more. Charles moved.

He pushed her in the cupboard, slammed the door… turned the key. Leaned against the door.

"The revenge of the White Knight, gentlemen!" He called, chuckling quietly to himself as he pocketed the key. Margaret screamed furiously.

"When are you gonna let us out, you JACKASS!" she yelled. Hawkeye tried to cover his ears, but it was still a pretty tight fit in the cupboard and he couldn't move very much.

"What's the big idea anyway, locking me in a cupboard with Pierce!" she shouted again, elbowing Hawkeye in the ribs.

"Only for an hour or so, my dear… stunt pulling… friends!" whistled Charles merrily before heading back to the Swamp.

"CHARLES!" yelled Margaret again. Hawkeye grabbed her arm. "Please, Margaret, you're bloody loud!" he winced.

"Get your hands off me," she hissed, trying to round on him but failing in the confined space.

"Well spending a hour locked in a cupboard with a screaming major isn't exactly my idea of fun either," he retorted sharply. "No-one can hear us, I think Charles was so nice to close the truck door. Do you have a torch?" For it was pitch black.

"You think I always carry one every time I go to the bar?" said Margaret bitterly. "This is all your fault, you… degenerate. If you'd never forced me to help play that stupid trick..."

"Hey, I didn't force you!" replied Hawkeye sharply. "Ow!"

"What's up?" said Margaret, suddenly sounding concerned. She was standing with her back to him, so couldn't really turn round to find out, even if she could see.

"Well, let's just say this cupboard isn't meant to have people in," said Hawkeye, heartfeltedly, wanting to rub his elbow but couldn't. He pressed both his arms against the walls. This place was too small… Margaret sighed.

"How long 'til we get out?" she inquired, suddenly sounding tired. "An hour?"

Hawkeye didn't reply. "Hawkeye?" she asked again, a little irate.

She heard him swallow in the dark. "Margaret, get me out of here." he said quietly. "God, get me out of here!" he suddenly yelled, banging on the side fiercely, his breath loud and ragged as if full of terror. Margaret held his arm to stop him banging.

"Come on, Hawkeye, he said he'd be back soon…" she said consolingly. She was startled to hear a faint sob in the captain's voice.

"I can't stand it, Margaret, it's too small, too enclosed, get me OUT!" he suddenly said, hands pushed against the sides of the cupboard. Margaret suddenly thought.

"Hawkeye… are you okay?" she said softly.

"Of course I'm not," said Hawkeye, silent tears rolling down his face.

"You're claustrophobic, aren't you?" she persisted quietly.

"Whatever! Just damn well let me out of here!" he said raggedly, collapsing to sit on the floor of the cupboard, not realising he was crushing the major in the corner. To Margaret's amazement she heard him crying. Hawkeye Pierce, the man with a quip for everything, the one who pulled them through all the worst times, was actually terrified by just being in this cupboard. Margaret sat on the only space available, which happened to be his lap, and silently hugged him. Hawkeye clung on to her, his mouth dry with terror and his heart beating wildly. He was claustrophobic, Margaret knew now. She held him as a mother comforts a small child, silently stroking his hair.

BJ threw down his cards from where he was playing Gin with the Colonel. "Where can Hawk and Margaret have got to? They've been gone half an hour!" he wondered out loud. The Colonel shrugged. "I wouldn't have put it past Charles to gone and done something to them. He was pretty mad the other day, sonny…" he said, trying not to grin. BJ couldn't help returning it. "Hey, it was old. He should have expected it." Getting to his feet, he was nearly cannoned into by Klinger rushing through the door.

"Hey Jack!" the Lebanese called. The burly driver looked up from the corner of the bar. "Yo, Klinger. What's up, buddy?"

"I found ya a tyre. You could get back to Seoul this evening if you hurry," grinned Klinger. "Great!" said the driver excitedly. "I know my CO will roast me if I'm not back before midnight! Help me out?" The two rushed out past BJ, who shrugged and wandered over to the Swamp. Charles was sitting listening to opera, merrily waving an invisible conductors stick to the music. BJ looked around and then looked hard at the major.

"Charles. Where's Hawkeye? And Margaret?" he said sharply, disturbed by the lack of his best friend. Charles chuckled amusedly.

"Oh come now, Hunnicutt, I'm sure you remember the, ehheh, prank you pulled the other day? Do you think I would let you get away with it?"

BJ rolled his eyes as Charles held up a key. "Where have you locked them?" he said exasperatedly.

"One of Klinger's cupboards," said Charles, giggling slightly. BJ turned white.

"You mean on that truck?" he demanded. Charles looked surprised. 

"Of course. I thought I would let them out in a few minutes though..."

BJ snatched the key from Charles' hand and raced out into the compound. Charles sat up hurriedly and looked out into the deepening twilight of the summer evening and at the tail lights of the truck disappearing around the corner.

"Oh. My. God." he whispered, turning as white as BJ had.

"Hey! You! Stop!" BJ yelled, running flat out after the truck and waving his hands. Eventually it rumbled out of sight and the captain stopped running, breathing harshly and with a sick feeling in his stomach. Colonel Potter and Charles came up behind him.

"What the hell is going on, Hunnicutt?" asked Potter roughly. BJ turned to glare at Charles, who was still pale as a ghost.

"That…. _baboon_…. decided it would be funny to lock Hawkeye and Margaret in that truck," BJ spat, turning back to the road. Colonel Potter stared disbelievingly at the major.

"You did _what_, Winchester?"

Charles waved his hands inarticulately in the air. "I was certain it wouldn't be leaving this evening! I was going to let them out in a minute or so! I didn't mean to!" he said, his eyes a little wilder than usual. Potter realised that blaming wasn't the answer right now. He turned round decisively and grabbed BJ by the shoulder. 

"It's not like they're going anywhere off the face of the earth, only Seoul," he said briskly, taking the key out of the captain's unresisting hand. "Hunnicutt, come with me while we grab a jeep. You, Winchester," he turned and looked hard at the quivering major, "will have to do all the Post-Op duties. And make damn sure you do them well!"

Charles nodded tremulously as Potter and BJ hurried off the CO's jeep.

Hawkeye was shaken awake by the movement of the cupboard. "Charles? That had better be you!" he called, shaking the traces of terror out of his voice as he realised he was still in the cupboard. Margaret suddenly sat up. "Hawkeye? Have I been asleep?"

He found her hand in the dark. "Listen."

Margaret listened. Then in a quiet voice said, "The truck's moving, isn't it."

"Damn!" swore Hawkeye quietly. "How the hell are we going to get out of this one!"

He banged one arm on the cupboard side in frustration, trying to forget his unreasoning fear. Margaret spoke up, her voice trembling a little. "We'll get out soon, Hawkeye, don't worry…"

"Don't WORRY?" he exploded, trying to stand up but hampered by her sitting on his lap. He quieted down as quickly as he had got angry, realising that she was gulping back tears. Little did he know that they were out of concern for him. 

"I... I'm sorry, Margaret. You've been so... understanding," he said remembering his earlier outbreak. "I didn't mean to shout."

"That's all right. I mean, I've read that claustrophobia is pretty bad, and you…"

Suddenly the pair of them were flung across to the side of the cupboard, cracking the wood by the hinge. The truck careened madly and then on to its side. Loud Korean voices shouted and there was a rattle of gunfire, and someone screamed. Outside they could hear the back of the truck being opened up and packages being hauled out. Shaking his head muzzily and sitting up from the side of the cupboard, Hawkeye suddenly realised that the hinge was now weak. Unreasoning joy flooded through him and he was about to force his way out no matter what was going on outside when a hand caught his arm. Being jumbled together when the truck turned, Margaret was no longer between him and the way out of his dark enclosing prison. The major knew this; but she also knew that to be found now might be their deaths. "Hawkeye!" she whispered sharply as he struggled to free his arm. "What?" he said aggressively before she laid a finger on his lips. "Shut up!" she whispered back, heart in her mouth as the moving of baggage got closer. Reason finally got through to Hawkeye and he stopped struggling, trying not to breath loudly.

A curt order was given and a vehicle was heard revving off into the distance. They waited a minute.

"_Now_ can we go?" whispered Hawkeye desperately. Margaret let go his arm and he slammed himself against the wood, trying to break through. At the second blow the hinges gave way and Hawkeye tumbled unceremoniously into the back of the truck. It was empty apart from the cupboards and six packages left. Stumbling out into the cool night air, Hawkeye breathed deeply, laughing now that he was free. Suddenly he remembered Margaret and hurried back towards the truck. Margaret had cautiously managed to get out herself, and Hawkeye offered her a courteous hand. She took it and got to her feet, going out onto the road.

She breathed deep to stop her trembling. Hawkeye was slowly walking round to the front of the vehicle. Suddenly Margaret remembered the driver, and hurried after him. Hawkeye looked through the cab window and then immediately turned away, sickened slightly even after his years of being a surgeon. He spoke his first words since he had got out.

"Don't look, Margaret."

She stared up into his face, saw the look there and turned away.

"All right. But it's a bit silly to ask me that, really," she replied. Hawkeye shrugged. A little of his old humour crept back into his tone.

"So, what now, Major? Stay here?"

Margaret looked about, noticing the packages still left. "No," she decided. "They might be back for the rest of the packages. Let's not risk our lives again"

"You know, that's the best idea I've heard in a while," replied Hawkeye. "I especially liked the part about not risking our lives. Bravo, Major! Back down the road?"

"I guess so. But off the road. We don't want to be seen."

"Last time we got lost and went off the road, we didn't get found for ages," objected Hawkeye. Margaret blushed slightly as she remembered what else had happened last time they were lost. Why did he go and bring that up? She was glad it was night. She beckoned to him and started walking briskly. Hawkeye got up slowly. He didn't want Margaret to realise how badly he had cut his head, somewhere between the crash and breaking down the door. He sighed. What did he bring that last time up for? He couldn't help remembering how it had felt to have her in his arms, after waiting so long…. Then he had got scared and ran away, only reconciling to be friends. He remembered his terror in the cupboard, and how she had held him. Maybe she still did care. Maybe maybe maybe! Shut up and walk, Hawkeye Pierce, his mind said sternly. Now is not the time! It's never the time for you, his heart retorted. Shaking his head and wiping most of the blood away with his hand, he started to follow her down the road, back to the MASH.

They walked quietly onwards, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Hawkeye stumbled, and quickly stood straight again, but Margaret noticed and turned round.

"Hawkeye? You all right there?" came her soft voice.

My head hurts and it's the middle of the night and we're far from home and in the middle of the war and I love you I can't tell you but I do my dearest darling my heart's love…

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled. Suddenly he heard a vehicle in the distance. Grabbing her arm he started off into the foliage at the side of the road.

"Come _on_, Margaret!" he said urgently. "Can't you hear it?"

She could as well, and pulled them both down underneath a concealing bush a way from he road. Sitting up quietly as it faded into the distance, she hugged her arms to her unconsciously. Her hand came up damp and dark from the stain on her sleeve where Hawkeye had grabbed her arm. The captain was leaning against the trunk of the bush, long legs stretched out in front of him, running exploratory fingers over his temple and wincing. When he realised she was looking at him he quickly put down his hand, but it was too late. She grabbed his wrist. 

"There's blood on your head, Captain Pierce."

"There is? Well fancy that. I didn't really think it was my colour, you know?" he said innocently. She thwacked him lightly on the shoulder. 

"You should have told me. I could have done something about it."

"Like what?" he said challengingly. 

"Cleaned it up?" Margaret suggested. Tearing her sleeve (the bloodstained one – lets be economic) she carefully wiped his brow, him submitting meekly to her ministrations. Folding the material and putting it on the floor, she tilted her head to the side and looked at him critically.

"Do I pass roster?" he asked, lightly teasing. His blue eyes were darker in the night, and her blonde hair bleached almost white by the moonlight. Something changed in the air; the silence was palpable. Very gently, Hawkeye reached out and ran his hand down her cheek.

"Over there!" yelled BJ, tugging on the Colonel's arm. The jeep slewed to a halt and BJ had jumped out even before it stopped moving. He stared in disbelief as the torchlight showed the overturned truck. The captain ran round to the back of the truck to look for the cupboards. Colonel Potter stooped to check the cab, and grimaced at the sight of the driver, the man named Jack who had so recently been laughing animatedly in Rosie's. "God, don't let them be like this," he said quietly as he went round to find BJ. 

Hunnicutt was pacing the road outside the back of the truck, looking for other signs. Potter examined the broken cupboard in the back. "Didn't get to Seoul then," he said, throwing the key into the back and feeling sick. "Looks like black marketeers. I'm reckoning they'll be back for this penicillin. Help me here, Hunnicutt?"

BJ turned to stare at Potter. "Where are Hawk and Margaret?" he demanded. "Penicillin? It's hardly important right now!"

"Look at it this way son. Either they've been taken by the North Koreans (which I doubt, seeing the state of the poor driver) or they've managed to break out of that cupboard and are now walking away from here. I'm hoping and praying it's the latter, and therefore they'll be somewhere near! Right?"

BJ smiled faintly. "I guess they would be off the road, somewhere a little safer. We're nearly at Seoul, right? So they'll have been walking onwards, yeah?"

"Do you think? I think they wouldn't know where the hell they are. It's past midnight, no east or west to work out. I think they'll have set off back."

"Well…." said BJ, unconvinced.

"Look, how's about this for an idea?" said the Colonel practically. "On to Seoul looking for signs of them, dropping off this penicillin when we get there. If we don't find them, then it's back along the road. What do you think, son?"

"I guess," sighed BJ. His thoughts treacherously strayed from his missing friend to his wife as it often did. Oh Peg, I wish I were home now with you, not mixed up in this crazy war, he wished fervently. Then he sighed and helped the Colonel with the packages.


	2. A Story Told

Margaret shook her head slightly, stumbling to her feet again and looking blindly out towards the road. Hawkeye felt sick disappointment in his stomach and put his hand down. He smiled quickly to cover his feelings.

"What's that you see, Margaret?" he inquired, scrambling to his feet to stand beside her as if nothing had happened. Margaret looked back suddenly at him as if just registering his presence, leaving Hawkeye even colder. He wanted to apologise, tell her everything, how he adored her but if she never wanted to see him what can he do to change it? Margaret stepped forward a little, out of the edge of the foliage and back towards the track. Her own thoughts were racing, unknown to the dark-haired man behind her. The truth was, she was afraid; unwelcome memories of Donald and Frank had suddenly reasserted them, and she remembered how she had promised never to get into something like that again. Her army major front had snapped into play, and she was running away. Again! Could she never admit to him, would he take her heart's deepest feelings and laugh at them, the way Hawkeye Pierce always laughed? She suddenly realised he had spoken, and the silence was getting longer and stranger.

"See anything?" she repeated, trying to compose herself. "No. This is hopeless. How are we to be found if we hide from every truck?" she turned back to him accusingly, suddenly wanting to be angry at someone.

"But they might have been North Koreans!" protested Hawkeye, spreading his hands helplessly. 

"Did you ever think it might have been Americans looking for us?" she half shouted. "Who knows where we are, or how long we were in that damned cupboard! If I hadn't been asleep, worried about you and your damn problems, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess!" She folded her arms and stared smouldering out at the road.

Each word hit Hawkeye like a knife. He hadn't thought about that; and he _had_ thought that maybe she had cared about his fears. That hurt worst of all. He replied in a subdued voice, trying not to show his emotions. It obviously worked for her, cold ice queen. Why, why did he have to love her? Out of the entire nursing staff it could have been anyone. It was typical she should be the one he cared for!

"I'm sorry, Major," he said in a low tone, looking expressionlessly ahead.

"Hmph," said Margaret, still staring at the road. After a second she did an internal double take. Where was the argumentative comeback, the joke at her expense? Why was he not replying like the self-centred surgeon that was Hawkeye? But he said no more.

They stood there a while, listening to the crickets loud hums and the faint breeze rolling bits of earth along the road. Margaret looked sideways at the tall shadow beside her, his shoulders slumped and his hands shoved into his pockets. In the pale moonlight she could just tell that his bandage was slipping despite her efforts and blood was seeping out again. Suddenly overcome with remorse, Margaret started berating herself. Why did you say that? You, you know Hawkeye Pierce is never like this. And he's not like Donald, or Frank; nothing could be further than the truth. And she'd gone and made fun of his claustrophobia, and blamed him for everything. God, what a heartless bitch she had been! Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and a small whimper escaped her lips. Hawkeye looked dully at her, his spirit so low he barely reacted. Margaret shook her head and looked back at him.  His own eyes were damp, she realised suddenly; that made her feel even worse.

"Hawkeye…" she said in a placatory tone, trying to keep the tremble out, "Please forgive me for that outburst. It was entirely inappropriate of me. I'm… I'm sorry."

Hawkeye managed a grin. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Major, I told you. I did act stupidly." Trying to break his hollow mood he bowed slightly. Margaret smiled back tremulously, and Hawkeye noticed the tears standing in her crystalline eyes. Shaking his head he carefully tried to tuck his feelings back away, where they still screamed raw. It wasn't too difficult to hide behind the stunning headache he was developing, he realised. A faint ghost of the outer Hawkeye Pierce surfaced again, and he held out his hand to Margaret. She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving a black smudge of mascara across her face. Hawkeye wanted to smile; he still thought she looked beautiful, no matter what she said.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and walking back to the road. "We don't want not to be found, you're right. Why don't we head on back, and when we hear anyone passing, just hide a little way back to see who it is? Okay?"

"Right," nodded Margaret, wiping her face again and taking a deep breath. The pair started walking back along the road.

The Colonel and BJ drove back in silence. No sign of them in Seoul; the other jeep that had come to retrieve Jack Lynsdale had been left behind already, no offer to help look for the missing personnel. BJ hit the dashboard gently in frustration. He remembered that Hawk and Margaret had been lost before; they could take care of themselves, and they wouldn't make the same mistakes twice. And how could they seriously get lost between Ouijonbu and Seoul? He looked up, seeing but not really registering a strange movement in the scrubland ahead of them. He sat a moment longer, then suddenly spun round in his seat as they rumbled past. A faint shout was heard, and BJ smiled delightedly.

"Margaret!" he shouted, almost falling out of his seat that he was sitting in backwards as Colonel Potter slammed the brakes on. There she was, a slight figure silhouetted in the waning moonlight waving her hands in the air. As the jeep did a quick about face, BJ saw a taller figure stumble out into the road as well, before it fell to its knees unceremoniously. Margaret quickly knelt beside Hawkeye as the jeep came skidding back. 

"Hawkeye?" she said anxiously.

"I'm all right, Margaret," said Hawkeye, grinning tiredly at her, blood streaked down the side of his face. His eyes were a little wild, and the nurse gripped his shoulders urgently. He smiled back a little dazed as the jeep swirled to a halt. BJ jumped out running, slowing to a halt as he reached his friends.

"Margaret, thank God you're all right," he said jubilantly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We thought you two might have been captured or something! What's wrong with Hawkeye?" the words rushed out of the anxious captain. Hawkeye looked up. 

"Hey, it's Beej!" he said, smiling faintly. Then his eyes rolled up and he would have pitched forward if his friends had not suddenly reached out to stop him. BJ shot a quizzical look at Margaret as Colonel Potter came striding over with a torch spilling bright light everywhere. The yellow light showed starkly the large red-brown smudge down the side of Hawkeye's white-pale face, the bandage sleeve of Margaret's shirt sopping in his blood and barely of any use any more.

"He's lost an awful lot of blood, I couldn't stop it bleeding so much," said Margaret pleadingly as the two men manoeuvred the unconscious Hawkeye into the back of the jeep. BJ was already rummaging in the medical bag. Margaret stood a little unsteadily by the back of the vehicle.

"Now then Margaret, stop berating yourself," said Potter kindly, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to start this here jeep back pdq to the 4077th, he'll be alright there. Will you be all right?" he asked, taking in her smudged face and torn sleeve. 

"Yes, yes, just fine," said Margaret, shaking her head and looking back at Hawkeye. Colonel Potter briskly took her arm.

"Hunnicutt! Jump in the back there with Pierce. Me and this little lady will ride up front, and we're going home, okay?"

"No problem," said BJ, frowning in concentration as he tried to keep one hand on a dressing and clamber in at the same time.  "Colonel, can I have your jacket, please?" After getting in the captain had removed his own and bundled it around Hawkeye, being careful with the field dressing.

"Shock?" asked the Colonel, handing his own over. 

"You're right, complications of blood loss," said BJ, covering Hawkeye with that one too. 

"Do you want mine?" asked Margaret anxiously.

"No, you keep yours," warned the Colonel. "I don't want you getting shocky or cold either." Margaret nodded silently.

Hawkeye woke up, once more jolted in the back of a vehicle. He put a hand out feebly beside him to reassure himself he was no longer in the cupboard, but then realised that it was BJ's face he could see in front of him.

"Beej? That you?" he said, blinking a little.

"Hey, he's awake! Yes, sure, Hawk, I'm here," said the captain, grinning widely but speaking calmly. 

"I have a killer headache. Have you been spiking the still again?" said Hawkeye with a weak but roguish laugh, struggling upright to look around. He was rewarded by the sight of Margaret peering over the back seat at him, a smile breaking through on her face.

"Really, Pierce, what an inconvenience you are!" she said lightly, unreasonable happy even though she knew it was just blood loss he was affected with. Hawkeye grinned back at her somewhat idiotically, glad to see her concerned for him. BJ tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, before making his pal lie down again.

"Here, Hawkeye, we should be back soon. But you have to lie down.  Symptoms of shock. So remember what they taught you! I would give you some morphine for that head wound, but a) I'm not sure you have enough blood to take it everywhere," he smiled lightly, "And b) I wouldn't like to take my chances putting a hypo in your arm in this moving jeep. So will you be okay?"

"Sure, sure, BJ," replied Hawkeye, suddenly entirely grateful for his friend. He gripped BJ's forearm with what strength he could muster in a gesture of appreciation, and the other captain wholeheartedly returned it. Margaret looked back ahead and was rewarded by the faint lights of the camp ahead. The Colonel waved one hand at the gate soldiers and slewed to a halt in the middle of the compound.  
"Next stop, Pre-Op!" he said, putting on the hand brake. Charles hurried out from the Post-Op ward, hastily shoving a pen in his coat pocket as he came to meet them.

"Are they all right?" he asked the Colonel anxiously, gesturing with one hand to the jeep where BJ and Margaret were helping Hawkeye out. 

"No thanks to you, Winchester," called out Margaret tartly. Charles flushed.

"Margaret, I am supremely sorry," he said, following the others into the bright lights of the Pre-Op room.

"Apology accepted, Charles, just don't even think about doing it again," said Margaret, preoccupied. 

"Hey, hey! That hurts!" objected Hawkeye loudly as BJ swiftly removed the rough and ready field dressing he had put on. Margaret came round the other side of the dark-haired captain and tilted her head on the side.

"What blood type are you, Pierce?" she asked briskly. He looked puzzled.

"I knew once, I think," he admitted, "but I've seen so many other people's dog-tags I don't even know my own." He moved his hand up to try and squint at the metal labels around his neck. 

"Don't move your head!" said BJ peremptorily, slapping down his friend's hand lightly.

"Sorry, Doc," said Hawkeye mock humbly. Margaret picked up the dog tags herself, turning them sideways to study them. 

"A . Nice and simple, for a change."

"But I thought it was B!" protested Hawkeye.

"No, A it is. You sure it's B?" said Margaret, confused.

"A B positive it is," said Hawkeye solemnly, before putting his hand down on the table to steady himself. He blinked a little.

"Oh, you!" said Margaret before striding over into the OR to find the blood fridge.

"I think your sense of humour is suffering from blood loss too, Hawk. Margaret doesn't seem too impressed." said BJ as he carefully prepared the local. Hawkeye looked aside. "I'm not much to be impressed about to her," he muttered. BJ looked up at his friend in surprise, but Hawkeye yawned and looked back at his friend with a look of resignation on his face. "Are you going to put that local in or do I have to wait in dread any longer?" he said flippantly, belying the paleness of his skin and his dazed eyes with his normal attitude. Not sure he had heard right anyway, BJ shrugged and smiled before turning to the hovering and hithertofore silent Charles.

"Did you want to get some sleep, Charles? This is only stitching, and blood replacement here. Margaret and I can handle Post-Op for now, though what time are you taking the morning shift?" Charles opened his mouth, then shut it again and nodded. 

"Anything I can do, it is done. I will do all the morning shifts." 

"This? Coming from you?" said BJ, mock surprised. Charles dipped his head.

"A small recompense for the aggravation and dangers I have placed upon you today." The normally snobbish Winchester smiled faintly. BJ grinned warmly in return.

"Thanks, Charles," he said truthfully.

Charles slipped out quietly, and BJ turned back to his dazed patient, narrowing his eyes as he carefully threaded a needle.

When Margaret returned with the blood, she was touched to see the injured captain fast asleep, on one of the trolleys. BJ carefully laid his sleeping friend down on to it before swabbing his arm with iodine.

"You know, I never thought I'd be standing here looking down at Hawkeye on one of these things," he remarked.

"Thank God it's not for something worse," said Margaret fervently, attaching the bottle to an IV stand.

"Now you've got that blood, I think we can start stitching. The local is already effective, you think we should wake him for this?" BJ asked for an opinion. Margaret shook her head and stifled a yawn.

"No, being relaxed should be useful for this. Then I think we should put him in Post-Op, to sleep whilst this blood gets into his system," she said. BJ took a deep breath. For God's sake, it's only stitching, he reminded himself sternly, before getting on with it.

BJ put the needle to the side and took the proffered tape from Margaret. Carefully finishing the job, he then stood back. Margaret smiled at him.

"Good job, BJ," she said warmly.  
"Surprised myself actually, you wouldn't believe how much I was trembling at the start," the good captain laughed a little. "Shall we take the patient to Post-Op?"

 "Sounds good to me," said Margaret wearily, walking over to the other end of the trolley and helping to take Hawkeye through. BJ noticed her smudged face and disarranged hair suddenly, and realised he didn't have a clue what his friends had been through. He watched as Margaret collapsed into the seat beside the slumbering Hawkeye, and sat down next to her.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently, trying to keep his own tiredness out of his voice. Margaret yawned and covered her mouth with a bloody hand. "What time is it?" she asked in reply, looking around as if she couldn't remember where the clock was.

"It's 02:30, I believe," said BJ, surprising himself. "I didn't think it had got that late." As if suddenly remembering how tired he was, he stifled a yawn. Margaret looked sadly down at Hawkeye and half held out her hand as if to touch the sleeping man. BJ was struck with a sudden desire to know what happened.

"Margaret, I know it's late, and I bet you're tired and want to clean up," said BJ, gesturing at the major, who looked up, "but if you're not, would you mind telling what happened? Me and the Colonel were worried sick about you, after we found the truck." BJ leant forward, a pleading look on his face.

"I hurt him, BJ," said Margaret softly, almost on the edge of hearing, reaching out to gently touch Hawkeye's brow.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, never mind. No, it's no problem, BJ, I can tell you what happened," she said leaning back in her chair.

"Charles told us there were caches, of military scrip, in the back of the cupboards. Hawkeye was searching faster than you could say knife, and I was watching him to see if he found any more. Then Charles pushed me in and locked the door," started Margaret, struggling to recollect what had been scant hours ago. "I started yelling and he said he'd be back in an hour. So there was me and Hawkeye, jammed in this little cupboard." She suddenly leant forward. "BJ, did you know about Hawkeye's phobia?"

"Not unless it's the still running out of gin," replied BJ, a fleeting smile on his face. Margaret looked serious.

"Hawkeye gets really bad claustrophobia. I mean real bad," she stated, glancing briefly in the latter's direction. BJ drew in a sharp breath. 

"Jeez, and you were in a tiny cupboard? I would have thought you'd get all sorts of 'Hawkeye' type comments about being locked in a small space with a nurse, but if he has claustrophobia..."

Margaret nodded gravely. "I didn't even get one word about it from him. Anyway, eventually, he cried himself to sleep."

"He cried?!?" said BJ, even more amazed and then very concerned for his friend.

"I guess I must have fallen asleep too," continued Margaret, her eyes filling as she remembered what she had said to him about 'his damn problem'. "Anyway, we woke up and the cupboard was moving, and we thought Charles had come back. But instead it was Korean voices we heard, and gunfire.

"I was absolutely petrified, but suddenly the truck turned over, and we were jumbled about the cupboard. The hinges nearly broke through – thinking about it, that must have been Hawkeye's injury, bashing against those rusty hinges!"

"They were rusty?" said BJ, suddenly getting up. Margaret flushed as she suddenly realised by not saying that she had put Hawkeye in danger of infection. BJ came striding back from the office with a personal record.

"Pierce, Captain B.F. Ha, Klinger never even woke up," he said, flipping through the pages. He smiled up in relief. "It's okay, Margaret, he's up to date on tetanus." BJ snapped the file closed and looked up at the head nurse. She smiled tremulously. 

"I'm so sorry, I never even thought about that, I'm terribly thoughtless, I mean..." she stammered, half apologising to BJ and half to the sleeping Hawkeye. BJ took hold of her arm.

"Whoa there Margaret. I got that you're sorry. It was an honest mistake, okay? I guess it's been pretty scary for you these past few hours. Don't blame yourself. Do you want to catch some sleep, or keep talking? What happened after the truck turned over?"

"That was one of the worst bits," replied Margaret, her eyes focussed somewhere else. "It wasn't as bad as the shelling I've been in, but the knowledge that one wrong move and we were POWs or worse for the rest of the war was pretty terrifying. And the worst thing was, I wasn't between Hawkeye and the broken door any more. I knew that he would want to be out of there no matter what, so I just managed to make him wait till the noises had died away." She took a deep breath, and BJ realised he was leaning forward with baited breath, so he forced himself to relax. They were both still alive and here, nothing happened that was fatal. He tilted his head as the head nurse continued. "When the Koreans had left, Hawkeye broke down the door where it was hanging from the hinges."

"I saw the broken cupboard," remarked BJ, his mind seeing that gaping dark hole in the black wood and the fear that his friends were still in there.

"We had no idea how long we'd been in the truck and therefore how far we were to Seoul, so we decided to head back along the track."

"But why didn't you see me and the Colonel driving past?" interjected BJ.

"I was getting to that. I guess that must have been the vehicle we heard going past that we hid from. And I realised Hawkeye was hurt, and used my sleeve to try and staunch the bleeding." Margaret stopped for a while, her eyes taking on an ineffable sadness and momentarily flickering towards the sleeping man beside her. BJ didn't miss it, and he carefully filed it away, to ask Hawk later. Clearly Margaret hadn't said everything, what with all these comments he had half heard.

"And then?" he prompted. Margaret shook herself back with an effort.

"Then we just kept walking until I saw you  - I recognised that mustache of yours, Hunnicutt, even in the dark! – and I waved. You know the rest."

BJ nodded in silent acquiescence. Margaret smiled briefly and passed a weary hand over her eyes.

"Look, Margaret, I really think you should rest now. I mean, you and Hawkeye were in a near death experience! You must be longing for about twelve hours sleep and some coffee. Though of course you may just have to deal with what the mess tent offers," said BJ, standing up and pulling the head nurse to her feet, despite her feeble protestations. "Hawkeye will be fine, don't worry. I'm going to hang around here for a while longer," the captain continued, half pushing her towards the door, with a friendly but no-nonsense expression on his face.

"But – "

"But nothing, Margaret, I care as much about your health as I do his! And as a doctor I _order_ you to get some rest!" said BJ, putting his hands on his hips and assuming a stern expression.

"And just who wears the oak leaves around here, Hunnicutt?" Margaret drew herself up, frowning at him. They locked eyes for a second. It was broken when Margaret yawned. BJ rolled his eyes.

"Out! Now!" he smiled, opening the door. Margaret threw a hand up in the air as she stumbled out with tiredness in her step.

"There's just no reasoning with you," her fading complaint came faintly across the compound. BJ sighed and went back to the chair beside his buddy. He checked that the blood was running through properly, and then sat and watched him, the anxiousness and panic he had been feeling over the last few hours slowly dissipating.

Charles sat up on his cot as he checked his watch. Why on earth had he woken himself so early? he wondered, about to turn back over. Glancing over at the other side of the room he realised that both the other bunks were empty. Then he remembered everything suddenly. Pierce was still in Post-Op; but where was Hunnicutt? Getting changed quickly, he staggered out into the compound. As he passed the bulletin board, he paused, sighed, pulled down the photograph, screwed it up and went onwards.

Kellye was sitting at one end of the ward, writing something. Charles scanned the room. Ah, there was Hawkeye, bundled in those blankets. He strode over and was about to say something when he was shushed by an almost inaudible voice. The chief surgeon of the 4077th grinned up at him and pointed to the chair beside him, where BJ was slumped and snoring gently.

"Don't wake the doctor now, will you, Chuck?" said Hawkeye quietly, grinning up at the tall major. Charles gave one of his small smiles that could have been a grimace.

"I'm glad to see you are feeling – better now, Pierce," said Charles, sitting on the edge of the bed and flipping over the chart. "Let's see now – "

"One and a half units whole blood so far," interrupted Hawkeye weakly, pointing at the IV stand beside him. "I got Kellye to change bottles first thing, but I don't think I should take much more." Charles tutted reprovingly.

"Now, Pierce, don't forget – you are the patient now, let us be the doctors, eh?" Hawkeye rolled his eyes. "If you say, Charles."

The doors opened again and Margaret hurried in, concern written on her face as she headed for the group near the office end of the ward. At the noise Hawkeye looked up, glad that she had come in so early, but she just walked over to the IV stand and checked it before going to stare at the board on Charles' lap.

 Just then beside them BJ blinked awake, then grimaced and winced as he realised he had slept in a chair all night.

"Now, Margaret, see what you've done! BJ was perfectly happy ruining his vertebrae there, and you had to spoil it," said Hawkeye.

"You let me sleep, you rat!" said BJ, staggering to his feet and yawning hugely. "Hey – you're awake!"

"Oh no. I always talk in my sleep, did you notice?"

"Talking of sleep, that's where you should be," reprimanded Margaret, looking at the unrepentant Hawkeye.

"I could say ditto to you too, Margaret," said BJ, coming to peer over Charles' shoulder.

"And what about you, Hunnicutt! What happened to the morning shift I was supposed to be doing? It's only 6:00!" said Charles, flipping back the paper and rehanging it on the end of the bed and smiling good-naturedly. BJ shrugged.

"I guess we all turned up."

"And it's only stitches!" said Hawkeye, fingering his temple.

"Right! That's it, too many people are here!" said the Colonel, striding in from the direction of his office. "I can't have all my best doctors – and nurse- out of commission through tiredness! Major Houlihan, Captain Hunnicutt, about face! Get some more sleep. And Pierce - "

Hawkeye leant back and closed his eyes.

"I can't hear you, Colonel, I'm asleep," he said faintly.

"Good!" said Potter, grinning and moderating his tone to a near whisper. He turned and looked hard at Margaret and BJ, who hurriedly stopped looking in and closed the door behind them.

BJ suddenly checked his walk about five steps after the door. Margaret turned round and looked at him quizzically.

"What's up?"

BJ turned to look at her seriously. "Margaret, I don't think we should tell anyone about Hawkeye's claustrophobia. Not unless he says so."

Margaret thought a moment. "What about Colonel Potter? Oughtn't he to know?"

"Maybe, I suppose. Anyway, I also think we should grab what sleep we can. Charles is on duty."

"Well let's not forget that it was he who put us into this mess in the first place," said Margaret darkly.

"Aw, give the man a break, Margaret, you saw him. He _volunteered_ to do the whole morning shift for us! And this is Charles we're talking about here. The man to whom 'volunteer' is a dirty word. I think he's sorry now."

"Well." said Margaret, shrugging before going back towards her tent. Suddenly BJ called after her. She turned and observed him quizzically.

"Margaret, I never asked. How are you holding up?" said BJ, coming over and looking at her concernedly. Margaret gave a tiny smile and shrugged before closing her door. BJ looked at the sign a minute before heading over to the Swamp, more than just a little confused. Just before he sat down, he pulled another photograph out of his pocket. He looked at it for a long moment, then shoved it in the stove and went to bed, as the morning light started to hit the camp.

Hawkeye sat up in his bed and looked out across the ward, before calling over BJ. He gestured at the early evening sun as it turned the room a pale shade of pink.

"I'm so _bored_, Beej, can I not at least go back to the Swamp?" he said pleadingly. BJ grinned and went round to check the stand and the flip chart.

"Aw, how could I resist a face like that," he said, tossing Hawkeye's robe on to the bed before carefully unhooking the tube from his arm. The captain eagerly followed his friend back to the Swamp, sitting down on his own cot and sighing with relief.

"Ah, that's better," he said, swinging his legs on to the bunk. "I was getting fed up with being a patient! At least I won't have you all hanging over me now."

"Hey, we're just concerned for you, Hawkeye," said BJ, standing up and putting both hands behind his head. "Now, lie there like a good boy or I'll regret letting you out," he warned. "I'm still on duty," I'll be back later. Holler if you need something."

"I think I'll be fine," replied Hawkeye, settling back in his own bunk. "After all, theoretically I should be releasable tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, and meanwhile you get to laze around all day!" said BJ with mock annoyance. "Well, seeya Hawk. Maybe after dinner." BJ pushed the door closed behind him and sauntered back over to his duty in Post-Op.

About half an hour later Margaret came in with damp hair, a little late for her shift change with Baker. She sat down at the desk after nodding to BJ, who was lounging against a wall reading someone's chart. Suddenly she realised that Hawkeye's bed was empty.

"BJ, where's Pierce?" she said, quickly standing up again and looking around. BJ waved a hand Swampwards, seeming not to look up from his chart but in reality watching the major carefully.

"I sent him back to the Swamp. You know Hawkeye – he's too impatient to be a patient."

Margaret looked indecisively back in that direction, but then shook her head and sat back down. Just then Colonel Potter wandered in. He tapped BJ's shoulder with a pencil. 

"You can go and take a chow break now, Hunnicutt. Shift's over."

"Thanks, Colonel," said BJ, handing over the chart and stifling a yawn. 

"What! Didn't you get enough sleep this morning?" asked Potter cheerfully. BJ laughed. He took off his white coat and started walking towards the door when he was suddenly called back.

Potter sat on Hawkeye's empty bunk and looked at the two in front of him.

"Margaret, I'm guessing you've already told BJ here the story. Now's my turn. I was out there looking for you two as well, you know," he said quietly.

Margaret sighed and shared a glance with BJ.

"To cut a long story short Colonel, Charles locked us in the cupboard. We fell asleep and only woke up just before the truck overturned. We heard gunfire, and Korean voices. Luckily when the truck turned over, the cupboard hinges weakened. Hawkeye was so desperate to get out despite the North Koreans that – "

"Whoa, hold your horses there a little, Major! We're going a little too fast for my liking. And why was Pierce so desperate to get out of the cupboard? Did you have an argument?"

"Not then, no. The trouble is, Colonel - " Margaret lowered her voice. BJ's head had snapped round to stare at her when she'd mentioned arguing. The major didn't seem to notice. BJ's quick mind started putting some pieces together.

"-the trouble is, Hawkeye has claustrophobia."

The Colonel looked thoughtful and grave.

"A case of the old closet phobia, huh? No wonder he wanted to get out so bad. Is that where he cut his head?"

"I'm guessing so, Colonel. He never told me and I didn't notice till we'd been walking a while. Then I used my sleeve to bandage it up."

BJ clapped a hand on Margaret's shoulder.

"I'm sure you want to talk some more, but personally I'm starving, and unless I'm mistaken, my shift is over. I'll see you later, Colonel, Major," he said, backing out of Post-Op and then walking not unhurriedly back towards the Swamp.


	3. The Worst Situation

BJ sat on the end of Hawkeye's bed. The dark haired captain was staring at the ceiling and didn't seem to notice him.

"Hawk? You there?" he asked softly. His friend looked down at him as if suddenly registering his presence.

"Oh… hi Beej. That was quick, wasn't it? No food for you?" he said, suddenly talking loudly and brightly, and propping himself up on his elbows. 

"You seemed off in your own little world, then, Hawk. You still feel shocky at all?" BJ reached for the torch in his pocket, but Hawkeye held up a hand.

"No, I'm fine, Beej. Fine, honestly. Did you come back for some sleep?"

BJ pulled his hand out of his pocket and got up to go and sit on Hawkeye's footlocker.

"No, Hawk. I came to talk."

"Sure, BJ. What's your problem?"

"It's your problem, Hawkeye."

"Who, me? That's a joke. Here's me, stuck ill in the middle of this hell hole of Korea, but I swear none of us has any problems!"

"Hawkeye, stop getting irate! Please? I'm serious here." Hawkeye lay back again.

"Okay. Sure. What's my problem this time, then, Doc?"

"I want to know what really happened, Hawkeye. Between you and Margaret, that night."

"Heh, nothing _happened_, BJ, what do you take me for?"

"I take you for a man who's been hurt, Hawkeye. I'm not blind, you know! Listen, I've seen the way Margaret ignores you whenever you're awake, and the way you're so subdued when she's around. But you're happy to see her, and whether you know it or not she's actually damn concerned for you. You getting this?"

Hawkeye nodded slowly, still not quite comprehending what his friend was saying.

"Furthermore, I know there was an argument. You said yourself that there was nothing to be impressed about in you, and you've been acting even more 'Hawkeye' since you properly came round. I can see you withdrawing, Hawk, and I don't like it," said BJ, modulating his tone and saying more gently. "I want to know, what's the deal?"

Hawkeye was silent for a long while. BJ could almost see the thoughts whipping loose around his friend's mind.

"Look, BJ, it's been a long day. I've been ill, and I'm sure you don't want to be fussed with… with me and my – damn problems."

The last words were almost stuttered out, and Hawkeye turned on his side away from his friend. BJ sat there a while longer, then quietly left the Swamp.

"Major? Major Houlihan?" said BJ, poking his head round the door affably. Margaret looked up in surprise at the doctor. "What's up, Hunnicutt?" she asked, tucking the pencil behind her ear. 

"Oh, nothing," replied BJ, still smiling amiably. "When do you get off shift?"

Margaret looked oddly at him. "In about an hour and a half, why?"

"Oh, I just wanted to talk to you a while. Nothing important – well, maybe a little."

"How long will it take?"

"Oh, I don't know. Not long."

Margaret glanced at Colonel Potter, who was just finishing his rounds. He nodded.

"Go right ahead, Major. Don't be far though, in case I need you."

"I'll be just outside," replied Margaret, following BJ outside.

BJ pulled Margaret round to the far side of the Post-Op ward. 

"Hey! We can't go far!" said Margaret, protesting and shaking her arm out of his grip. "What was it you wanted to say anyway?"

BJ leant against a crate.

"Margaret, I wanted to know if you were ever going to talk to Hawkeye. After all, with all his damn problems he's feeling a little low at the moment."

Margaret went white and her eyes narrowed. "It's none of your business, Hunnicutt," she said shortly, turning away. How could he have known that was what she felt worst about!

"Look, Margaret," said BJ hurrying round to face her again, "I know – believe me, I've seen it! - that Hawkeye really cares about your opinions. And I know that you've been ignoring him for a reason. What did he say? Was he just rude and insensitive? I'm sure you've been hurt too, Margaret. Please…. Just talk to him?"

BJ's pleading and concerned tone crept into Margaret's consciousness and she felt mean and heartless all over again. Her eyes filled with tears.

"But, but…" she managed to say, barely keeping the trembling from her voice.

BJ looked at her, sympathy and concern in his eyes.

"But I was such a jerk!" she wailed, clenching her fists and turning away so he would not see her cry. "How can I go back and face him, knowing what I've said! And I'm so sorry – so sorry - "

"Margaret, I'm not the one you need to tell," said BJ, putting his hand on her shaking shoulder.

"But – I can't! How can I face him?" said Margaret, turning her tear-ravaged face towards him suddenly.

"Listen to me, Margaret. You are without doubt one of the bravest people I know. I'm sure you can talk to him," said BJ in a firm but gentle voice. "I know I've only just come off shift, but I'll do what I can if you want to go now."

Margaret stood there, torn in indecision. Suddenly she nodded and started walking swiftly off, as if she would change her mind any minute.

BJ sighed, and walked back inside Post-Op. The Colonel looked a little puzzled, but BJ explained that Major Houlihan would be back soon, there was just something she had to attend to.

"Well, as long as you fill in for her for a while," said Colonel Potter absently, finishing a chart with a flourish. BJ wandered over and sat down. He fished a photo of Peg out of his top pocket, and sat there for a long while, just staring. Why did he have to get mixed up in others' problems? Because that's the kind of man you are, he seemed to hear his wife say. He smiled, his mind a thousand miles ago in a little place called Mill Valley.

A faint knocking came at the door of the Swamp, where the red rays of the almost set sun was staining everything a rich rose. Hawkeye didn't turn over.

"If that's you again, BJ, I don't want to talk," he said irritably.

"It – it's Margaret," came a hesitant voice. Hawkeye scrambled up on his elbows and stared at the door. She'd come to see him?

He suddenly remembered to say come in. Margaret pushed open the door. She was still wearing her Post-Op coat, and Hawkeye could see she had been crying.

"Hey Margaret, what's up?" he said, concerned. At his tone of voice Margaret almost broke down again. Despite his waving towards a chair, she remained standing.

"I just came – to say how sorry I am. For shouting at you, and for ignoring you, when all you did was support me." She struggled over the words, and she looked at him desperately, hoping that he would accept her apology. Half of her was screaming that she had done what she had sworn not to – to let her feelings show – and half of her was searching for some scrap of reassurance, the weaker girl inside the strong woman that the whole camp knew. Hawkeye patted the locker beside him.

"Sit down, Margaret," he said quietly, sitting up properly in his bunk. The major sat down as if she had just taken a step into the unknown. 

Hawkeye studied her face for a moment, his heart beating faster and his eyes trying to take in all her features as if to commit them to memory forever.

"Margaret. Margaret, I… I should be sorry. I've been an irresponsible fool, and a dishonest one. You have an upstanding character, and are the strongest person I know. It – means a lot to me to hear you apologise – to me! – I scarcely deserve it. Just to know that you really are the woman I know, who is so understanding in everything she does."

Hawkeye was surprised to hear that it was himself he heard speaking. Un-Hawkeye like phrases slipped from his tongue like a foreign language. He shook his head a little.

"What more can I say than thank you," he finished, looking for some recognition in her face. At first she was as still as a statue, then a smile broke across her face. Hawkeye found himself grinning too, idiotically almost.

"I'm glad you understand," whispered Margaret. 

Suddenly her head swivelled round as Charles opened the Swamp door, whistling slightly with a newspaper under his arm. He looked over at the head nurse, who was staring at the floor, and then at Pierce who was staring at him with an almost challenging look.

"Hello there Pierce, been removed from the ward I see?" he said amiably, breaking the tension in the room neatly but without rancour.

"The doctor decided I could rest at home this evening," said Hawkeye, leaning back on his pillow. Margaret got to her feet.

"I really must go, poor BJ is doing my duty at the moment," said Margaret, her hand on the door. "And, Hawkeye?"

"Yes?"

"Thank _you_." She smiled and left.

"Thanks for what?" inquired Charles, yawning and getting out his unfinished letter.

"Oh, nothing," said Hawkeye, a grin still spread across his face.

Attention all personnel! Report to Triage for your daily dose of the war…

"I can't believe we've only just emptied Post-Op, and bingo, another lot," complained BJ bitterly, leaving his patient to Margaret and running over to the next jeep. Hawkeye looked up from another soldier.

"I know… it's not right," he said, shaking his head as he carefully covered the face of the soldier he was looking at. "This one's for Father Mulcahy now, get going," he said, a tired look on his face as he jumped up and dashed over to the next one. 

"Damn, this guy's bleeding a lot. Bad chest wounds. He'd better go second, after that head wound," he ordered, waving him away. Looking up he started investigating the shoulder of the next soldier. The latter looked curiously at the doctor examining him, his voice a little vague.

 "Hey, been in a war someplace, Doc?" he asked, using his other arm to point at the almost healed stitches across Hawkeye's brow.

"No, no, I just got into a fight with a cupboard. They're vicious things you know," replied Hawkeye, grinning slightly whilst replacing the dressing swiftly. He nodded to the orderly. "Not so bad, see when you can slot him in," he said, dusting his hands and looking around the compound. The chaos was becoming more ordered, slowly, and he could see both the Colonel and Charles leaning over one soldier, their voices fraught as they sorted him out. Shaking his head, he checked there were no more casualties that weren't dealt with. BJ caught his shoulder as he headed over towards the remaining scene.

"The Colonel says go scrub," the captain said, steering his friend over towards the OR. "And if you feel a bit woozy or anything, call one of us over to give you a hand."

"Beej, I told you I'm fine," protested Hawkeye. From behind him he heard a whoop that had to be from Colonel Potter, and he smiled. Looks like they worked that one out just fine.

The session turned out to be longer then expected. About three hours in, all the available personnel were called out for another group, this time much larger. The clock seemed to slow down to a crawl, hours passing and the day ticking past. The surgeons took breaks where they could; Hawkeye refused any help, saying he was just fine, no-one worry. It was too busy for him not to be.

When they finally escaped, the next morning was well advanced, and everyone was dog-tired. The two captains fell asleep in the Swamp almost immediately. Well, Hawkeye did. Keeping his eyes open just a little longer, BJ quietly checked on his friend. His colour wasn't good, he decided, but I'm sure sleep will be the best remedy. And talking of sleep… BJ staggered back to his own bunk and collapsed on top of it. It had been a looong day.

The war goes on…

Klinger hesitated before shaking awake Captain Hunnicutt. It seemed such a shame… but the Colonel did say.

"Klinger! What the hell do you call this time!" whispered BJ fiercely, turning over in his bunk. "I'm not moving until I've had at least ten hours sleep!"

"Settle for half?" said Klinger, raising his hands helplessly before going over to Hawkeye's bed. Suddenly he looked back.

"I said wake up, Captain!" he said to BJ, as the doctor seemed inanimate.

"I don't care what you say!" retorted the latter, putting his pillow over his head.

"You care what I do though," came the Colonel's voice. He was standing by the netting wall, himself sandy-eyed, peering inside. BJ starting muttering under his breath and began to get up.

"WHAT time do you call this Klinger?! It's still the afternoon!" an irate voice came from Hawkeye's direction. Colonel Potter called out.

"Relax, Pierce. I just want you to affix your John Hancock to a piece of paper for us. I'm afraid, Hunnicutt, that -" he said, turning to face BJ. Hawkeye grabbed the pencil from Klinger's hand and scribbled on the meekly proffered paper.

 " – they want an extra doctor down at the 8063rd _again,_" continued the Colonel, "they also asked specifically for Captain Pierce and Major Houlihan. Now, I'm not allowing Hawkeye out for a while, and besides, I need the chief surgeon here. I'm sending you and Margaret down instead. And - " 

BJ opened his mouth to protest, but Hawkeye got there first.

"I'm not an invalid, you know! And they specifically asked for me!" he said, sitting up in his bunk and scrabbling for his robe.

Colonel Potter continued as if he hadn't heard. " – and that's why I got Pierce to sign a letter to the CO explaining his absence."

"Give me that," growled Hawkeye, grabbing for the paper before Klinger quickly nipped out of the door again. "BJ! You don't want to go! They want the chief surgeon!"

BJ quickly changed what he was about to reply. "You heard the man, Hawk, he's in charge," he said resignedly, picking around the room for his clothes.

"Beej! I'm not an invalid! Let me do my job!" appealed Hawkeye to his best friend. BJ just shrugged with a sorry expression on his face. 

"Try and get some more sleep, Hawk."

"Like the rest of us," came a tart but muffled voice from Charles's bunk.

Hawkeye paced the dark compound moodily. They were always cosseting him! It's damn stitches! And I've managed the same shifts as everyone else, there's nothing wrong with me! To hell with their 'go back to sleep, Hawkeye'. He kicked a stone and sent it spinning across the ground towards the dimly lit motor pool. 

Little did he know that the Colonel had not sent BJ for that reason alone. Potter had his reasons; he knew that the 8063rd had bugged out just before a deluge of wounded – to a cave. 

As Klinger came round the corner holding a sheaf of reports, Hawkeye shifted into step behind the clerk.

"So, Klinger, what ya up to?" he said ingratiatingly. Klinger threw a surprised look over his shoulder.

"Paperwork, sir. It's what I normally do. Remember, I got some sleep during that OR session. Unlike you," said Klinger, jerking his head towards the captain. Hawkeye threw his hands up in the air.

"Jeez, is everyone appointed my personal nursemaid?" he appealed annoyed to the sky, before turning irritated blue eyes on the Lebanese. "Anyway, Klinger – you any idea where the 8063rd is at the moment?"

"Classified information, Captain Pierce," said Klinger, cringing in anticipation of his rebuke. Turning round after a few seconds he saw the back of Hawkeye as he stalked off.

A jeep came rattling into the night- time compound about an hour later. Charles, Hawkeye and Colonel Potter came out, surprised to see a man driving two wounded. 

"What's going on here?" asked Colonel Potter, as he quickly started assessing his patient. "Why weren't these taken through Battalion Aid?" For the soldiers were completely untended. The driver pushed back his helmet from a dirt-smudged face. 

"Found them on the side of the road to the eighty sixty third. As far as I can make out, there must be snipers or something around there. Anyway, sir, I knew that MASH unit was full to bursting, so I brought them back here."

The doctors and a few others were quickly shifting the wounded two inside. Colonel Potter placed a brief hand on the driver's shoulder.

"You did good, son. Get some food and sleep now, ask Corporal Klinger for where." The CO smiled and then hurried after his patients.

"It's no good, sir, we're going to have to put them in the VIP tent, there's simply no more room in Post-Op!" said Nurse Kellye, turning helplessly around in the middle of the ward. "I'll send someone over there to sort it out, sir. Will it do?"

"Have to, under the circumstances," said Potter grimly. With the number of wounded in this area and the 8063rd, this was turning into no picnic of a police action. And he couldn't get on the phone to that unit because of the bug-out. Damn and double damn! When would he get his doctor and nurse back? First thing in the morning, he decided, he would send someone up there to check it out.

Hawkeye, wearing his Post-Op coat and carrying a clipboard, strode grimly away from the VIP tent the next morning. Those two confirmed it; sniper activity and the 8063rd had bugged out. He was worried sick, he admitted to himself; what if Margaret and Beej… he suddenly was surprised to see a yawning Klinger revving a jeep. He grabbed the corporal's shoulder.

"Where are you going, Klinger?"

"To the eighty… I mean to pick up some heater parts, sir!" said Klinger, shaking off his sleep suddenly and inwardly wincing as he heard himself speak.

"The 8063rd? Right. You just got yourself a passenger," said Hawkeye, striding round the jeep and getting in. "Drive, Klinger!"

"No! I mean, I mustn't, you see, Col…"

"Klinger, pretend I didn't hear that," pleaded Hawkeye. "I've got to find out about Margaret and BJ! Just go, quick, we won't be long, will we…"

Klinger bit his lip and rested his hand on the wheel. The tone of Hawkeye's voice… almost convinced him.

"What about your patients, sir?" he asked suddenly, not wanting to be responsible for anything.

"I just came off shift.  Now please, Klinger, go! Just say it was my direct order under pain of death or something, I promise to take all the blame," said Hawkeye earnestly, searching the Lebanese corporal's face. Klinger sighed.

"All right. But I'm just a flunky here, okay?" he said, pulling off the handbrake and accelerating out of the compound.

"Klinger, I could hug you if you weren't driving," exclaimed Hawkeye, struggling out of his white coat and reaching for a helmet in the back. Jamming it on his head, they set off in the morning sunlight. He'd soon see her again…

The jeep rattled through the empty compound of the 8063rd as Klinger turned down a side road. Hawkeye turned round in his seat, a very confused and slightly horrified look on his face.

"Klinger – where the hell are they?"

"It's not far away, sir," replied Klinger, fixing his eyes on the newly churned up road ahead. "That's why they needed the extra surgeons – apparently operating is a little difficult in a cave."

Hawkeye's face blanched and unwelcome memories flooded back of his recent internment in the dark, enclosing cupboard. He swallowed and put his hand on the front of the dashboard. He hadn't been like this in years! He could normally cope with big caves, he was better… he shook his head and tried to think like Sidney. It was probably the cupboard that was scaring him now. Not the cave. Yes, that was right.

In the busy creek bottoms by the cliff bottom, the jeep finally collapsed to a halt. Hawkeye got out and took off his helmet, grabbing for the arm of the corpsman hurrying past.

"Excuse me, I'm Captain Pierce, here to see your CO. Or better still, Captain Hunnicutt. You know where I can find them?" he said, keeping step with the man as he walked past. The latter waved a vague hand towards a few tents set up outside the mouth of the largest cave. Hawkeye smiled briefly and turned to Klinger.

"I'm just going to find them, okay? You stay with the jeep?"

"Hey, Colonel Potter sent _me_ to check," objected Klinger, leaning over the wheel to stare at Hawkeye.

"I knew I could count on you," replied the captain, clapping the disgruntled clerk on the shoulder before hurrying eagerly over towards the tents, where someone had hammered a crude signpost that stated POST OP. 

"Gee, from one shift to another," said Hawkeye to himself, poking his head inside. He looked at the nurse passing papers to a harried looking man who had to be the clerk.

"Um, could you tell me were to find the CO, Cathy?" he asked, smiling engagingly at the brown-haired nurse who he had met last time. He grinned to himself. There was no harm in using a little charm to find out about the people he cared about more than anything.

The nurse looked up and blushed a little, before smiling at him boldly. "Why, Hawkeye, I thought you were ill… I was so disappointed to find that clean-cut captain they sent instead of you." She laughed prettily. Hawkeye inwardly groaned. He'd forgotten that about her.

"Much as I'd _love_ to stay and talk, Cathy, I really gotta find the CO?"

"Further inside, where the wards are. Believe me, it's damn full in there right now. Perhaps you'd like to come and find some coffee afterwards?" she grinned hopefully. But Hawkeye was already gone.

Margaret tilted the chart under the light and narrowed her eyes as she stared at the figures in front of her.

"Right, Parker, put this boy back on 10 % D and W. I don't like the way he's heading."

"Yes, Major," complied the nurse. Margaret sighed. She hardly knew anyone here, and the conditions were awful. She glanced back from under the yellow, temperamental lamp towards the afternoon light from the cave mouth. Suddenly a familiar silhouette appeared, indecisively hovering at the entrance. She hurried over, a huge smile breaking across her face.

"Hawkeye! What are you doing here?" she asked, taking his arm and dragging him unresistingly outside again. Her face suddenly changed again, the beam replaced with an anxious look. "Everything's okay, back at the 4077th?"

Hawkeye took a deep breath and smiled back down at her. "No, it's just a little full. The Colonel wanted to know when he was getting his personnel back, so I came to find you." He turned to face her, holding her arm still.

"You're okay? Has there been much shooting or shelling round here?" he asked, concern showing in his eyes.

"Well, we've heard it, but no-one's been hit," said Margaret, a little puzzled. Then a thought struck her. "Hawkeye – about you not going…. BJ went instead because – we knew the 8063rd had bugged out to a cave. Not because we thought you were ill."

"Just too much of a chicken to work under pressure."  
"No! Look, I'm serious, Hawkeye." She reached up and ran her fingers thoughtfully over his stitches. Hawkeye froze under her innocent gesture, and she suddenly pulled her hand back and looked away before continuing. "Your head wound is healing nicely, we just thought maybe just this once BJ should go."  
Hawkeye grinned slightly, his skin still tingling from her touch. "Talking of Beej, where is he?" He looked back into the yawning cave mouth for a moment before facing the outside again quickly.

"BJ is in the OR at the moment. Routine few operations still going through, because several soldiers weren't tended to properly in the panic to move out."

Hawkeye nodded. 

"Well, Klinger and I are here with a jeep. If the CO can spare you, we need you back at the 4077th."

"I'll go and ask now," said Margaret immediately.

"Hey, I'm the one to be asking," objected Hawkeye.

"Hawkeye, your only excuse of not being here is you're supposed to be laid up with a head wound. Let me tell you, the CO wasn't too happy about getting Hunnicutt and not you as he required."

"Well, who cares?" said Hawkeye, raising his voice slightly.

"_I _for one don't want Colonel Potter getting into trouble," hissed Margaret," so stay out, Pierce."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes and went back to the jeep.

BJ threw his scrubs across the top of the screen that separated the few tables that were supposed to be the OR. The chief surgeon of the 8063rd came over and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Glad you could help us out here," he said, smiling warmly at BJ, who grinned tiredly. 

"Do you know when we're getting back to our own unit?" he asked in return.

"Hey, we're not that repulsive, are we?" protested the major, looking mock hurt.

"Naw, I'm just missing my own bed, you know? And my wife's letters…" said BJ, walking over to where he left his jacket. Truth was, he also missed working in the kind of relaxed atmosphere he normally did, and it made him more nervous about his work. He looked up to Margaret walking over to them, a faint grin on her face.

"Hey, Major Houlihan! Any news?" he asked wearily. Also having to be more formal was kinda telling too.

"Captain, I've been informed we can get ready to leave. There's a driver waiting for us, so if you'd like to pack now…" she left it hanging. BJ jumped to his feet.

"I guess that's my cue to leave, Major," he said, turning and clasping the surgeon's hand in a brief handshake.

"No problem, it's been great working with you, Hunnicutt. Send my regards to your friend Captain Pierce too, won't you?" the man replied sincerely. BJ nodded in return and then went deeper into the cave to find the cot he had been assigned to. Margaret followed, her bag already swinging from her hand. 

"Come on, hurry up," she said impatiently in a low tone. "I had to do some fast talking to the CO to get us to leave in the first place." BJ looked up surprised from stashing his spare uniform.

"Why, wasn't it him who said?"

"Klinger turned up to ask whether we would be getting back soon, so I said we would try and oblige," grinned Margaret. 

"That scoundrel!" laughed BJ. "Come on, let's go." Picking up his bag he followed the major out into the open, blinking at the bright light. The pair hurried past the official tents, towards the dusty jeep that had circled and was running its engine impatiently. A figure lounging in the back of it turned and waved at them.

"Hey, Hawk!" said BJ delightedly, but then narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here? What's up?"

"Nothing, nothing! Colonel Potter wanted his personnel back, and I'd heard reports of sniper activity up here. No phones? So I couldn't just ring…"

BJ chucked his bag into the back and jumped in after it. Hawkeye solemnly offered him a hat, and BJ chuckled at jammed it on.

"I'm telling you, even under these conditions, this place is far too stuffy for me," BJ stated in a low tone as Klinger started the jeep. Margaret turned round from her seat in the front.

"I know what you mean," she said fervently. Somehow, without Hawkeye's constant witticisms, the trip hadn't been one of her favourites. Okay, she had BJ, but he just wasn't the same. She swivelled back round in her seat abruptly. The two captains shrugged and started talking again as the jeep pulled up into the deserted camp once more.

*********************************************************************

Hawkeye opened his eyes from where he was resting them against the heat of the sun. Looking around, he saw that BJ was snoring, his long legs cramped into the small space in the back. Margaret was staring out at nothing, and Klinger was whistling jauntily to himself as he drove. Tipping back his helmet, Hawkeye wriggled upright a little more to see the surrounding countryside.

A whine sliced through the air, and suddenly shots were heard rattling through the air. BJ sat up so suddenly his helmet fell off, and Klinger floored the accelerator. Confusion reigned; everyone in the jeep started talking at once, until they were suddenly interrupted by a stifled scream from Margaret. As she clamped her hand over her arm, both she and BJ were almost thrown out of the swerving jeep. Another shot hit the tyre with a loud bang, and the jeep slithered to halt halfway up a bank.

"Margaret!" said Hawkeye, leaning forward to grab her arm. She looked round, her face pale and blood streaking her face where she had bitten through her lip. Klinger beside her suddenly pushed her sideways. "Get down!" he said fiercely, scrambling out of the jeep as four North Koreans broke out of cover ahead of them.

A fast, furious jabber of Korean halted the four of them in their tracks. BJ slowly clambered to his feet outside the truck where he had fallen, putting his hands above his head. The others followed suit rapidly, Margaret only making it halfway there as her upper arm refused to move, a dark stain spreading across her jacket sleeve. She threw a desperate look at Hawkeye as they were gestured forward with rapid gun movements.

"Look, we're doctors, see?" said BJ in as much as a placatory tone as he could. "See the red cross? It's not a target spot, it means something!"

The soldiers exchanged uneasy looks, and then one stepped forwards and gave a curt order. The four Americans fell hurriedly into step, marched down the road, their arms still upraised. Suddenly Margaret stumbled, and would have fallen, but Hawkeye moved forward swiftly to hold her up. A North Korean grabbed his arm.

"Hey! Can't you see she's hurt!" said Hawkeye, angrily and irrationally. "Can we not at least take the shrapnel out and stop the bleeding?!"

"They don't understand, Hawk," said BJ out of the corner of his mouth. "Just keep walking, or we're all dead." Klinger in front of him nodded white-faced.

"But she's hurt!" said Hawkeye, stepping over to the head nurse and trying to see how he could help.

"Hawkeye, stop, just do what BJ said," said Margaret pleadingly, not wanting him hurt. The dark-haired captain ignored her and pulled her to a halt, starting to take off his jacket to at least stop the bleeding.   A Korean shouted at him, and two of them grabbed Hawkeye; the other one slapped Margaret disdainfully and then trained his gun on them.

Hawkeye cracked. Normally his non-aggressive and cowardly nature snapped into play, but he couldn't help it. He turned on the guard holding him and punched him, hard.

"How dare you hit her!" he yelled, his face enraged and almost unrecognisable. His wrist was held fast by another, and a gun was pointed at his forehead with a Korean voice yelling back. Margaret bit back a scream.

Hawkeye stopped dead, eyes fixed not on the gunpoint in front of him but the soldier holding it. The latter jerked his head towards the other two, who moved forward and slung their guns over their backs.

Margaret was crying quietly, and Klinger and BJ stood there helplessly, watching their friend get systematically beaten up. Tears were standing in the good captain's eyes, knowing he dare not move, not to help Hawk or Margaret. He wanted to shout to scream, anything but he couldn't. Instead he stood there are prayed fervently for once in his life, extolling anything he could. Eventually the two guards kicked Hawkeye once more for good measure, and left him lying face down on the dusty road. The one with the gun prodded at the prone captain with his foot, before rolling his eyes and saying something intelligible. BJ stood with his heart in his mouth, relief flooding through him when Hawkeye stirred and was made groggily to stand again.

They were walking, walking down the endless road, each second stretching away into eternity. Klinger limped, from what injury BJ didn't know; Margaret ahead of him was barely keeping on her feet and her arm was almost solidly red and damp with her blood. He didn't dare turn round to check on his friend, but he could hear his ragged breathing and heavy step behind him. His thoughts wandered on to crazy, random things; the fact that if he didn't come home Peg would have a terrible time taking Erin to school, that he had left her cookies on Charles' bed, and would the major have eaten them all? He could imagine Colonel Potter having to pick up the phone, to report that they had all been – no. Shut up, BJ, and concentrate on walking. That's all you can do now. He fixed his eyes on the arid earth of the road, watching his every step and only looking up when Margaret in front of him stumbled. Suddenly the soldier in the front held up a peremptory hand. A swift and incomprehensible conversation followed amongst their captors. Then, to his immense relief, the four prisoners were allowed to sit down.

Three of the soldiers disappeared into the undergrowth, towards what BJ dimly realised was other Korean voices. One soldier remained, idly standing watching towards where his comrades had gone. BJ shuffled over to Margaret, and took her arm gently. It looked bad; but for now just stopping the bleeding would be helpful. Hawkeye crawled over to the other side of the major, and wordlessly handed BJ his ripped jacket to use as a bandage. BJ couldn't help drawing in a breath as he looked at his friend; his hands were swollen enormously, trickles of blood adorned his uniform and his face was a mass of cuts and bruises. Faintly irrationally BJ noticed that the stitches had been torn out of Hawkeye's head. Dammit, I worked on that, he thought, getting annoyed. Then he realised what he was thinking, laughed silently and ruefully to himself and continued with the bandaging.

Hawkeye put one arm around Margaret as BJ carefully as possible dealt what he could on her wound. The nurse buried her head in his shoulder, drawing silent support from the captain. He sighed, trying to ignore the feeling that his body was about three times its normal size and covered in needles, and struggling to keep down his emotions.

"Margaret," he whispered in her ear, startled to hear his own voice so rasping. She looked up at him, such emotions playing across her face that his own heart started beating faster. "Margaret – whatever happens, I want you to know – "

"You're being melodramatic, Pierce," she teased him softly, not wanting to attract any undue attention. Instead he hugged her to him as closely as he could. He opened his mouth again, but shut it quickly as suddenly their guard came alert. One of the others came rushing back, gesticulating wildly to him. The guard shouldered his gun again and ran his eyes over the Americans. He passed swiftly over the beaten dark-haired one, and the bleeding woman, and then decided on the one with the mustache. He didn't look hurt. Using his gun as a pointer, he ordered that one to his feet. Good, not harmed, perfect. Turning to the other he signalled BJ to leave the others and follow.

Hawkeye watched through horrified eyes as his best friend got slowly to his feet, harried by Korean voices. BJ was lead off, a tall shape in comparison with the Korean just visible above the scrub. Eventually they were out of sight.

"Where's he gone?" whispered Klinger out of the side of his mouth, inching closer to the two. Margaret shook her head in mute terror, clinging on to Hawkeye for all she was worth. Damn the army major face; when faced with a situation like this, she needed what comfort she could get. She could feel the slight apprehension in Hawkeye's lean frame, even as he held her close and kept his eyes fixed on the scrub ahead. The Korean voices could be heard shouting faintly in the distance, and he tensed, the fear coursing down his arms and into her, making her stiffen in fright. From that direction was suddenly heard several volleys of gunshot, and someone yelled. Margaret caught her breath in her throat, suppressing her hysterical sobs. 

But then something miraculous happened. The guard, listening intently to the voices, suddenly turned and fled down the road, stumbling in his effort to escape. Out of the opposite side of the road came another group of Koreans – as Klinger discerned, South Koreans! And there, there was BJ walking at the back with a tired smile on his face! Opposite him Hawkeye tried to jump to his feet, but BJ fell to his knees beside the pair and hugged them both before coming over and hugging him too.

"We're saved! Klinger, Hawk, Margaret, we can go back…!" he said jubilantly.

Colonel Potter was not in a happy mood. He paced around the room some more, then glared out into the compound. Finally he stomped into Post-Op, where Charles was almost asleep on the table in the corner.

"Winchester!"

"Wh – huh, yes Colonel?" said Charles slightly disoriented.

"Are you _sure_ you don't know when they will be back?"

Charles sighed wearily. " _No_, sir. I told you before."

"Ooh, when I get my hands on him…" muttered Colonel Potter, stalking outside and staring down futilely down the road. That captain would get a lesson on what an order was, this time he wouldn't make a mistake.

As he stared down the track leading into the compound, he suddenly discerned two jeeps, one full of Koreans and the other full of Americans, to go by the uniforms. What was this? More wounded? He blinked incredulously as the vehicles came closer. Wasn't that Klinger, and his medical personnel? Thanks be! But wait, what was wrong with Margaret?

The jeeps pulled into the dusty compound, screeching to a halt. Klinger got out and wearily saluted. "Wounded, sir!"

Potter was speechless. The cheek of this clerk! "Klinger, after we've dealt with them you are overdue a meeting in my office! You hear? Now, where are the wounded? And you three, Pierce especially - " he said, rounding on the officers, not noticing their state in his annoyance. The South Korean Major tapped him respectfully on the shoulder.

"What is it?" said Potter irritably. Klinger stumbled into the Post-Op ward to fetch Charles, and BJ helped Hawkeye manhandle the almost unconscious major off the jeep.

"Maybe the Colonel should treat his wounded before taking men to task," said the Korean commander pointedly. As Charles came hurrying out with a few corpsmen, the Colonel turned to actually look at his officers.

"Major Houlihan! Wha – A little help here!" he suddenly shouted, concerned to his very bones. BJ held up a weary hand in what could technically be classed as a salute. 

"Hey, Colonel, sorry we're late."


	4. Revelations

"Get her prepped, I'm going to scrub," ordered Potter. Hawkeye sat on the table next to Margaret, a haunting concern in his face as he watched her ragged breathing. As Charles carefully cut away her sleeve, she turned a weak smile, so unlike her, towards the captain. He slipped off the table and limped over to her, kneeling beside her so his face was level with hers. As she looked at his anxious blue eyes she noticed one was nearly swollen shut and a huge purple bruise spread across his cheek, and dried blood ran from his mouth. But all he could think of was her.

"Margaret, it's going to be okay, don't worry," he was saying, his calm voice cracking a little. "It's just shrapnel, we deal with this all the time. You trust the Colonel, and all of us here! Please, believe it will be all right…"

"Of course I do," said Margaret, rolling her eyes a little. "I do know a little about surgery, you know."

"Certainly, of course," went on Hawkeye, shaking his head a little. "But - "

"Pierce, I think the woman knows what she is talking about," said Charles lightly, finishing what he was doing and nodding at the corpsman. Hawkeye followed the gurney as they headed off towards the OR, still talking non-stop to the major. She smiled and closed her eyes. God, what an idiot he was acting, but such a sweet one…

Winchester caught Hawkeye's arm as he was about to go in, and he hissed in pain before halting.

"What's up?"

"Not sterile, Pierce!" laughed the major. "And I need to look at you now. Where's BJ?"

BJ curled up on his cot as he stared at the photograph in its silver frame, until tears started to blur his vision. What if he had died, and never seen them again? His poor little baby daughter, and his beautiful wife, what would they do? The horrors of the day started to break through the doctor, and his shoulders started to shake. Never had he looked death in the face like that before. Those North Koreans were using him as a hostage, to make sure that they would not be harmed by their enemies. They made it very clear to the Southerners that any closer, and they would shoot their captive. Forced to his knees and with a gun pressed into his temple, BJ had seen the allied Koreans press forward determinedly. Only the guns of the allies and his own quick reflexes had saved him, throwing himself to the floor as gunfire rattled around him. Death had come so close, and he couldn't even feel brave about it. What kind of a man was he? Suddenly his private musings were broken by the Swamp door creaking open gently. Father Mulcahy removed his hat and smiled at BJ quietly.

"May I come in, BJ?"

The captain waved a hand, hastily trying to clear up his frame of mind. "No problem, Father."

The priest came in and sat on the end of BJ's bunk.

"I wondered if you would like to come and help clear up Hawkeye, so that Charles could help with Major Houlihan's surgery. Or we could just talk, if you wanted."

BJ suddenly felt awful – here he was feeling sorry for himself, and his friends needed his help. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes.

"I'm fine, Father. Sure I'll come."

The good father's eyes flickered towards the tear-blotched photograph that BJ was setting back on his bedside table.

"That would be nice, BJ. Klinger told me some gabbled story about today; he's a little shaken up. But you were at surgery this morning, weren't you? Would you prefer to sleep now?"

BJ laughed shortly. "This morning seems a thousand years ago now, Father. No, I can help out now, I want to."

"Well maybe you can talk to me as we go, or later," persisted Father Mulcahy, getting up as Hunnicutt did. BJ stopped and looked back at him.

"Th – thank you, Father," he said simply. "I'd like that."

Hawkeye bit back a yelp as Charles gently lifted his two last fingers. 

"That hurts like hell," he said between clenched teeth.  
"Ah. Wiggle them a bit? Right. It appears, Pierce, that you've broken those two fingers."

"I didn't break them, it was the North Koreans," objected Hawkeye, a little white-faced.

"Well, I'll have to strap them up. And restitch your head, and strap that sprained ankle too. Goodness, Pierce, when you get into a mess, you don't half do it over the top."

"All part of the essential Hawkeye, you know that," returned the captain with a grin, before wincing as Charles began to deal with his fingers. A little while later, BJ quietly opened the door, with Father Mulcahy following him.

"Hey, Beej! You okay?" said Hawkeye, smiling at his friend. BJ nodded and then came over to stand behind Winchester.

"Look, Charles, do you want to go and check how it's going in the OR? I can deal with Hawkeye," he said, glancing over to the door of the theatre. 

"If you want," said Charles, getting to his feet and fishing for a mask in his pocket, before heading through the double doors. Hawkeye craned his neck to try and see through there, and BJ put a gentle hand on his friends shoulder.

"Look, Hawk, she'll be fine, okay?"

"I guess…" said Hawkeye, unconvinced. BJ smiled gently at the feelings showing so plainly on his friend's face, and started getting on with it.

Colonel Potter carefully withdrew a splinter of stone from the arm of the patient, and put it in the dish at the side. 

"I think that's it, can you see any more?" he asked the hovering Charles.

"Not from here. I think you got it all," said Charles, eyes narrowed as he stared at the wound. Satisfied, he looked over at the anaesthetist. "How's she doing?"

"90 over 60, pulse steady," was the reply. Potter nodded.

"I think we're ready to close. And I'll do it myself," he warned Kellye, who silently complied and swapped his instrument for a needle. Charles walked outside and pulled off his mask. Hawkeye in the corner shot to his feet, nearly kicking BJ in the face as his ankle was being bandaged.

"How – ow! – is she doing, Charles?" asked Hawkeye, putting out his good hand to steady himself on BJ's shoulder. Charles looked a little oddly at the captain, who wasn't being circumspect about his tone of voice.

"She'll be just fine, Pierce," he said, puzzled slightly. "But then what did you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Hawkeye lamely before sitting back down slowly. "When will she be out?"

"You'll see her when they bring her into Post-Op," said BJ firmly, sticking a safety pin into the ankle bandage. "Because that's where you're going."

"Do I _live_ in that place?" complained Hawkeye. "Because I seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time there!"

"There is a war on, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Gee, nothing gets past you, Beej."

Late that night BJ sat up, emitting a startled but terrified cry. Charles blinked sleepy eyed and sat up too. BJ was sitting with his head on his knees, trying to calm his trembling.

"Hunnicutt? BJ?"

"Huh? Charles?"

"You okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. Just a bad dream."

BJ turned back over, but decided to get up and walk around a bit, to diminish the memories howling around his head. 

"Just going to get a drink," he mumbled, staggering to the door. Maybe he would go and check in on Margaret, and Hawk.

Hawkeye suddenly came awake, his thoughts tangled and a thread of fear running throughout. Guns! But wait, Margaret and he were alive, that shot hadn't got her and Beej… Margaret! How was she? He lay still a little longer, then saw that Baker, on duty that night, had been writing a letter under the little lamp at the other end, and had slid out with it in her hand, presumably to post it He carefully swung his aching body off the bed and started limping as quietly as possible over to the other side of the room. There, was that the major over there? Gently he slid on to the chair beside her. She seemed to be asleep; he reached out and touched her hair, as if reassuring himself. The major turned her head a little, her forehead faintly wrinkled in a frown, and muttered something unintelligible. Hawkeye put out his hand to her forehead, trailed his finger down her cheek. He sat there a little while longer, just staring at her. It was no good; he could never tell her, but he must. Soon. Or else he might just go crazy.

Looking up suddenly as Baker came back in, he tried to jump to his feet. The nurse turned and smiled at Hawkeye surprised.

"Hawkeye! You feeling okay? What are you doing up?" she said, walking over to him. He stumbled out into the aisle, trying not to look guilty.

"I'm fine, I was just... checking patients, you know? I guess I'm just a doctor fed up with being invalid."

"Well, invalid, get back to bed. You've got to rest that ankle."

Hawkeye nodded in compliance and sat down on his own bed. As Baker walked back to her desk, checking each patient as she went, Hawkeye cast a long look over at the other bed. Shaking his head he lay back down.

BJ, standing with his hand resting against the outside door, slipped away quietly. It was starting to get cold outside, anyway.

*********************************************************************

"Hello? Hello? That I-Corps? Good! Right, I need some replacement personnel for a while. What? A surgeon. And a nurse too! And – huh? Injured, what did you think? Hon- what? No! A nurse and a surgeon. Pronto! Got that? Right!"

"Masterful, sir."

"Hey, they don't call me a CO for nothin', Klinger. Now, what's the time?"

"Must be 11:00 by now, sir."

"Damn! My shift. Well stay there, you mustn't leave this office except in an emergency. AND LEAVE THAT KNEE ALONE!"

"Sorry sir! Automatic reaction! It's the bandage, see. Can't stand them."

"Well stand it! See you later."

"Wait a second, sir, you didn't sign these casualty reports. And the Purple Heart form."

"Oh, give it here. Purple heart, eh? Well lookit! If you three didn't manage to get one!"

"Three? I thought it was four of us, sir," said Klinger puzzled, peering at the forms upside down.

"Captain Hunnicutt doesn't seem to have one. Of course, he didn't get hurt."

"What! I mean, sir, can't you write down that he was? He went through the worst!"

"The hostage thing? I guess you're right," said the Colonel thoughtfully. "But he wasn't on the casualty list."

"Aw, go on sir, give him a check up or something. See if you can't find something to put down," said Klinger anxiously. He remembered the fear on BJ's face as he had got to his feet, taking the danger on himself instead of his friends, and shuddered.

"You know, you're right, Corporal," said Colonel Potter decisively.

 He put the unsigned forms down and went through to Post-Op, where BJ was sitting on Hawkeye's bed, talking quietly to his friend. He looked up as the Colonel appeared.

"Hey there, Colonel. Come to change shift with me?"

"Not yet. I want to give you a check up."

"Me?"

"That's who I normally mean when I say 'you' to you. Pierce here can do any advice if necessary while we're busy."

"Honestly, Colonel, there's nothing wrong with me…"

"I don't care. Move!"  
BJ grumbling got to his feet. Colonel Potter caught his arm as they headed out the door into the sunlight. He narrowed his eyes at BJ's pale face, with dark circles smudged under his eyes.

"Did you sleep last night, Hunnicutt?"

"A little."

"How much little?" demanded Potter.

"About an hour," said BJ reluctantly.

"What! Why?"

"Uh, guess I just couldn't sleep," said BJ lamely. Colonel Potter looked thoughtful. Then he took the unenthusiastic captain by the arm and headed towards the Swamp.

"I'm going to get you that Purple Heart whatever, Hunnicutt, so you can start by owning up anything that hurts."

"Why that?"

"Because you deserve it, dammit! And the other three get it too."

"I don't think Hawkeye will be too impressed."

"To be honest, Hunnicutt, neither do I, but he's getting it anyway. And so are you!"

"Okay, okay…" said BJ, too tired to keep protesting as he normally did. He sat there whilst the Colonel checked him over. BJ hissed softly through his teeth as the CO found a large bruise on the back of his head.

"How did you get that?" asked the Colonel, finding a little thermometer and shaking it.

"Um, when I got thrown from the jeep I guess."

"You were thrown from the jeep??"

"I told you that."

"Next time, speak above a whisper when you say things like that. It's not something to be ashamed of!"

"Yes, Colonel."

That evening the replacement personnel rumbled into camp. The surgeon was a good chap, except he reminded everyone a little of Radar. He was very quiet, and introduced himself shyly as Will Relowski. Everyone hoped they wouldn't have to need him, but in a nice way. More wounded was not what they needed right now. The nurse on the other hand, Lucie Walton, oozed charisma, brown-auburn curls caught prettily to one side and intriguing green eyes. She made friends with everyone, and for some reason just wouldn't leave Charles alone. BJ even joked lightly with Hawkeye about it, that he didn't seem to be interested. Hawkeye just shrugged and laughed a little, saying he was too busy getting better (his face was now a swollen and curious shade of purple in most places) to be getting interested. _Or maybe you're interested in someone else_, thought BJ to himself.

The following afternoon the call came through for more wounded. The camp groaned; they had space now, but not a lot. Hawkeye sat by Margaret's bed, his own taken up, fretting that he couldn't go in and help. As soon as she had woken up, Hawkeye had entertained her and basically acted as her private doctor, even when Potter came to check on them both. Meanwhile Charles, BJ, Relowski and the Colonel worked steadily through the new casualties.

"More suction, I can hardly see a damn thing," complained BJ as he worked swiftly on a shrapnel-riddled soldier. 

"Pressure?" asked the Colonel anxiously. "Right. Can I get another bottle of O over here!" he called. Nurse Walton, unfamiliar with the OR, grabbed for the one nearest the door of the fridge. The condensation made it slippery; it skittered from her grasp and exploded with a noise like a gunshot on the floor.

The OR was silent for a minute; then everyone started talking at once. Walton was falling over herself apologising, starting to clear up with tears standing in her eyes, and Kellye got another to hand to the Colonel. Baker, working with BJ, was startled to see the captain frozen in place, his face suddenly deathly pale.

"Doctor? You alright?"

She put her hand on his arm, and he yelled involuntarily as he jumped backwards.

"Hunnicutt? What the hell?" said Potter, and Charles looked up at the fading terror in BJ's face.

"Close for me," ordered Winchester, gesturing to his nurse and hurrying round to BJ.

"Hunnicutt, why don't you take a little rest for a minute."

"I – I'm sorry," said BJ, white-faced. Father Mulcahy got up from his corner and took the captain by the shoulder.

"BJ, what's up?" he said, sitting the captain down on the bench outside.

"The noise – like those guns," said BJ, shaking his head and trying to calm himself down.

 "Like those – Korean guns?"

"I'm sorry," repeated BJ, putting his head in his bloodstained hands. Father Mulcahy put a comforting arm around the captain, and eventually BJ got to his feet again, taking in a deep breath and smiling at the father.

"I have patients to see to. Thanks, Father." He said, before carefully pushing the doors open again, where everyone bent busily to their tasks.

Colonel Potter stood up behind his desk, surveying the usual faces in front of him. Charles and Father Mulcahy were sitting over to one side; BJ lounged in a chair whilst Klinger perched on a stool behind him, and Margaret, her arm tightly bandaged and in a sling, was sitting over towards the window. Hawkeye sat on the drawers behind her; his face was fading to a yellow-green and his hand was splinted in place.

"Right! I know some of you know why you're here."

"Let me guess. Something about Purple Hearts."

"Hunnicutt! Yes, as it happens it is. And I know you captains aren't too enamoured of it, but you're getting them anyway."

And without much ceremony, the Colonel produced the four black boxes. Charles smiled superciliously, and Father Mulcahy smiled beneficially, and the Colonel just beamed. Margaret saluted with her other hand, happy to receive what she did; Klinger was almost excited. ("Gee, a real medal! Wait 'til I tell the folks back in Toledo!") Hawkeye and BJ had theirs pinned on without much comment, but Hawkeye couldn't help smiling at the Colonel's look of intense concentration as he fiddled with the bars.

"There!" said the Colonel, standing back and saluting them all. "I don't know if I said this all ready, but I'm damn proud of you folks." The four of them looked at each other, and saluted in return.

"Wonderful!" said Charles. "Now, if you bemedalled people would mind, I really must go and wash."

"Not _jealous_, are we Major?" laughed BJ. "You can have mine if you want."

"You keep yours, Hunnicutt," warned the Colonel, smiling genially. "Now if you folks don't mind, I'm going to check out Sophie. Poor girl's been a little neglected in these busy days…" Charles ducked through the door behind the exiting Potter. Klinger followed grinning. 

"Hey Hawk, you should have gotten the Purple Face, not Heart," said BJ, getting to his feet and smiling.

"But it's yellow," objected Margaret.

"Okay, more a kind of green."

"Puce."

"Will you two cut it out?" said Hawkeye exasperatedly.

"Just kidding, just kidding!" protested BJ, narrowly avoiding being swacked on the arm and dancing out of the way through the door. Hawkeye rolled his eyes before holding out his arm to Margaret.

"Walk you to your tent, ma'am?"

"Don't mind if I do, captain," she replied demurely. They left the office, Hawkeye without realising it actually leaning more on Margaret as he limped slightly

*********************************************************************

Hawkeye looked up. "Your door, ma'am, please call our taxi service again!" he said lightly.

"Much obliged," said Margaret, dipping her head regally. The two looked at each other for a moment, then started laughing. Eventually Hawkeye leaned against the wooden slat against the tent, regaining his breath.

"Who would thought, Margaret, that when we first met we wouldn't have even _considered_ laughing with, not at, each other?" he said, his face crinkled in a gentle smile.

"Or saving each other's lives," replied Margaret, more serious suddenly. "Look – uh, Hawkeye – well, come inside a minute," she said, gesturing to her doorway. Hawkeye shrugged and courteously held open the door for her. Once inside Margaret paced a little, then sat on her bed. Hawkeye stood in the middle of the room, a little bemused but a flicker of hope growing inside him. Suddenly the head nurse looked up.

"Hawkeye – I never told you thank you. For standing up for me against the Korean soldiers. Tell me, tell me truthfully Captain… why did you do it?"

The darkhaired surgeon stood quiet a few minutes. Looking down at the major's searching blue eyes, he sat down beside her, trying to formulate what he would say.

"Um. Well, Margaret, normally I would make some kind of diverting comment now. But, but now I think maybe I should be honest with you."

"Do," whispered Margaret back, leaning a little closer.  Looking down at her beautiful face, Hawkeye felt his heart doing something strange. He swallowed and got on with it.

"Because you mean a lot, Margaret. And – and I would do anything for you. I couldn't bear to lose you…"

He struggled with words once again.

"..because if I lost you, I think I would go mad," he finished, looking up at her.

Margaret blushed like a sunrise, and sat still for a minute.

"Hawkeye…"

"Yes?"

"What would you say if… if I told you I felt the same way?"

By now their faces, sharing the same hopeful but uncertain expressions, were almost touching. Hawkeye swallowed. Instead of answering, he leant and gently pressed his lips against hers. The response was electric.

"Then I would be a very happy man," he replied somewhat huskily, withdrawing slightly. Margaret smiled gently and leant forward again, but winced as her bound arm was knocked. Hawkeye leant back and put his hands, one still splinted, on her shoulders.

"Now, Major, the doctor ordered rest for that arm," he said teasingly, trying to cover his emotions. As he bent and started kissing her again, the PA crackled.

"Can Captain Pierce & Major Winchester please report to Post-Op!"

"Damn," said Hawkeye. "Damn."

He slowly got to his feet, rubbing his bruised forehead. Margaret stumbled to her feet also, unwilling to leave it there, so many things still to say. The dark haired captain smiled slightly.

"What say you we finish this… conversation later, Margaret?"

"I guess so," shrugged the head nurse, sick disappointment flickering across her face. 

He turned to go, but then stopped, and carefully unpinned his medal.

"Don't forget what I've said," he said softly. "And here's my heart. It was always yours."

Leaving the medal pressed into her palm, he kissed her forehead and slipped out, leaving her standing in the middle of the tent.

_Meep, I know there was some more.. but it broke off better here. And yes, I'm taking on board all your comments, and I'm so surprised you like it! x3 thanks! ~Kitty_


End file.
